


Christmas is Gay

by facetiousfutz



Series: Christmas is Gay: A Tweek and Craig Holiday Special [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Bribery, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Craig and Those Guys - Freeform, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Drama, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Homophobic Uncle, I Learned Something Today, Love Wins, M/M, Raisins Girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-14 10:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13006182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetiousfutz/pseuds/facetiousfutz
Summary: Craig is forced to spend Christmas with his ignorant uncle, a man who decidedly doesn’t take too kindly to homosexual boys these days. He’ll go out of his way to prove to Craig’s dad that being gay is a choice, and that he’s just confused right now. Naturally, Craig’s got no time for this bullshit, and is determined escape this holy yuletide hell before the night is through.





	1. Jesus Hates Figs

Christmas was a hit or miss time of year for Craig. It even went in a hit, miss, hit, miss pattern. That pattern correlated with whom his family chose to spend their Christmas. Last year, the family piled into the car and went all the way to Glenwood Springs to spend Christmas at his grandma’s house. 

They’d spent a good week there, first having a lovely Christmas with grandma, then hitting up the slopes at the ski resort the day after. Craig wasn’t the most athletic kid in the world, but at least he didn’t eat shit as badly as his sister did. She’d given up skiing last year in favor of snow boarding. She ate shit less while doing that, but she still ate shit, and Craig would make fun of her. She managed to whip Craig’s butt at every arcade game once the sun went down and they were back inside. Tweek would have been proud. He always took Tricia’s side when Craig was being a dick. 

That was the only downside to a visit with grandma last year. It was the first Christmas that Tweek and Craig were boyfriends, but they spent it miles and miles apart. Even so, the nice thing was that it was all too easy to come out to grandma. It went something like “so yeah, I’m gay and I have a boyfriend” and he showed her all four pictures of Tweek that he had on his phone. He was lucky to get that many, because Tweek hated getting his picture taken. Grandma thought Tweek was adorable, and requested that Craig mail her one of Tweek’s class pictures so she could place it on her mantle. This is why grandma was his favorite person in the family. She got unconditional love exactly right. No wonder his mom was so cool about him being gay right from the start. Grandma raised her daughter right. 

Then he had the complete opposite end of the spectrum practically resting in his backyard. Uncle Skeeter, who owned that nasty bar by the firearms shop last time Craig checked. Uncle Skeeter, a man his own dad couldn’t love, even though they were brothers. Dad explained that it’s just how it is in Catholic families. Even when you fucking hate them, you’ve still gotta love them. And that is why they spent every other Christmas with his uncle. 

Well, that’s one reason why. The other reason was that trips to Glenwood Springs were expensive, even with all of grandma’s coupons and discounts. Even considering the fact that she was retired and hardly spent any money. She saved it all so she could treat her family to nice things whenever she saw them. Mom didn’t like to take advantage of that kindness, and Craig and Tricia didn’t understand why. Grandma liked treating them. When that argument fell flat, and it always did, both have tried pleading a case for spending Christmas at home with just the four of them instead. Mom and dad refused, though. Uncle Skeeter might have been a blowhard that didn’t take too kindly to things and folks he didn’t understand, but he was still family, and ultimately that’s what mattered. 

Craig had been dreading the family visit from hell all week, and he gave Tweek bare minimum info on why he was dreading this. Instead of burdening his easily distressed boyfriend with his problems, he instead turned to Jesus for guidance. He texted, “Hey Jesus. I’m gay and I was just wondering. Is that wrong? I mean really?” 

In mere moments, Jesus texted back, “This again? My poor child. When will people learn. Twas FIGS that I said I hated, not, well, you know.” 

Craig was confused, not connecting his predicament with figs at all. He texted, “OK? But is it wrong to be gay? I’m asking because my uncle’s kind of a huge bigot.” 

“No, My son. You are only as My Father created you, and My Father makes no mistakes.” 

“Cool. Thanks dude. I mean Lord,” was Craig’s response. He had something to shove under his uncle’s ugly nose if he tried to drag religion into his bullshit tirades. 

That was two days ago, and provided some amount of ease at least. Now it was the twenty-third, and the children of South Park were in the middle of their pointless half-day at school. Even the teacher knew it was pointless to attempt to lecture a room full of students who’d be concentrating way too hard on the time, eager to leave and start their vacations, so she broke out as many crayons, colored pencils, pipe cleaners, beads, glitter, glue, confetti, other random junk, and a variety of colored paper and told the class to have at it until the dismissal bell rang. 

Tweek and Craig pushed their desks together. Tweek selected every shade of painfully neon-colored printer paper he could get his hands on and cut out paper snowflakes. Craig drew the word BALLS in large bubble text and colored it in methodically. He wanted to draw the word FUCK, but he didn’t want to get in trouble again. At least with BALLS he could make the case that he literally meant balls, like baseballs, or basket balls. And if that fell through, he could remind his teacher that he was gay and not to be a hater, or he’d report her to PC Principal. That usually worked. 

“You should draw a little Christmas hat over the ‘B’,” said Tweek, admiring the bulky crayon mush that Craig called art. After all, it was very Craig of him to be both as boring and obscene as he could get away with. 

“You do it,” said Craig, sliding the piece of paper over. “I can’t draw worth a shit.” 

“OK. I’m not that good at drawing either, though.” Nevertheless, Tweek took up one beaten to shit red crayon and drew a hat on the ‘B’. He further embellished the piece by drawing a string of Christmas lights around it: red, green, yellow, blue, and then he grabbed some Elmer’s glue and glitter to make it extra fancy. It became a tacky mess, and they were both proud of it. Clyde, Jimmy, and Token all got a laugh out of it, too. Then Kenny gave Craig a thumbs up, and Craig gave him the finger, but he was smiling as he did so. 

He was the only kid in the class that wasn’t eager to leave. Him and Tweek had barely signed their creation before the dismissal bell rang, and once it had the two boys were the only ones who stayed behind. Without prompting, Craig cleaned the mess around his and Tweek’s area, and then helped the teacher collect everyone else’s mess as well. 

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Craig,” said the teacher. 

“Whatever,” said Craig. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to help. He wasn’t a brown-nosing teacher’s pet like Wendy and Kyle could be. He just didn’t want to go home right away. Tweek didn’t question it because he already knew why. They stayed behind until the entire mess was gone, and would have stayed longer still, but the teacher tossed her coat on and was eager to tear out of the room and start her own vacation. 

That left Tweek and Craig at the entrance of South Park Elementary. Tweek’s dad was on his way to gather them. To their surprise, Mr. Tweak announced that he was taking them to Bennigan’s for lunch before Craig had to go home and pack. 

“You know. My dad’s probably going to frame this,” said Tweek, holding BALLS in his hands. “It’s our first collaborative piece of art.” 

“Your definition of art is loose, isn’t it?” said Craig. If he brought that home to his parents his mom would give him the finger and tear it in half. If it were just his piece, though, he wouldn’t care. It took no effort on his part. Tweek, however, managed to embellish it to the point where it looked like a blingee gif. The copious amount of glitter gave the piece a sense of movement that it didn’t have before. It was tacky and awful, and it was Craig’s favorite thing in the world right now. Tweek’s parents better like it, because it was their Christmas present. 

“Man, I can’t believe we’re finally on vacation,” said Tweek. 

“It’s not much of a vacation.” Craig frowned. These were his last fleeting hours of happiness before he had to step foot into hell. Uncle Skeeter lived maybe twenty minutes away, and it’d only be three days. Unlike last year, he’d get to spend at least part of his holiday break with Tweek. Just not the part that mattered most. 

Instead, he’d be putting up with his bigot uncle, and his cousins Red and Lexus. He and Red had an understanding at least. She went on her mobile device, he went on his, and they only pretended to care about one another when the adults were watching. Lexus was new, though. A DNA test by her mother, a professional night performer at the Peppermint Hippo, confirmed that Lexus was Skeeter’s illegitimate child. His wife was pregnant with Red while he had the affair, and it didn’t come out into the open until last year. Aunt Scarlet died of some sort of cancer when Craig and Red were only three, so she presumably died without ever knowing what a pig her husband was. 

The name Lexus was familiar to Craig, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. All he knew was that she was part of the family now, and he had to make her feel welcome. He reckoned he’d give her the finger once and that would be that. He hoped he could count on Red to lay down the ground rules before his arrival. 

Craig sighed. He really didn’t want to think about this right now. Instead, he filled the silence with whatever unrelated thing came to mind first. 

“Your dad’s sure taking his sweet ass time.” There. Silence broken. 

He’d also just noticed that he and Tweek were holding hands. Physical contact between the two had become as reflexive and breathing anymore. No wonder he didn’t notice. If it was that natural for them to be together, then it was gonna suck all the more when they were separated. Why did his parents have to be so cruel? 

“You could always walk home instead,” Tweek quipped. He wasn’t actually annoyed. He knew Craig had a lot on his mind. Even so, he didn’t want Craig to know that he was worried. Craig always got really clingy and protective when he thought Tweek was panicking. He was still struggling to differentiate between Tweek’s actual panic attacks and his general discomfort, or stress-filled rants. It wasn’t uncommon for anyone, including his own parents, to confuse the two, so he supposed he shouldn’t expect Craig to get it right every time. For Craig’s sake, he’d feign normality. 

“I might do that,” said Craig. “Before my goddamn toes freeze off.” 

The threat was empty, though. His temperament was generally reserved, if not grumpy, so it came across as normal when he was being a jackass. This was good. Normal meant Tweek wouldn’t worry about him. He had enough bullshit going on. He didn’t need to pile the distress of his boyfriend to his rapidly growing list of irritants and concerns. He would have one nice lunch with his love, kiss him goodnight when Mr. Tweak wasn’t looking, and then endure three days of his uncle’s bullshit. 

Then, when he came home, he’d hang out with Tweek again, and things would be normal. No one would have to worry. Nothing would get out of hand. Everything would be fine. 

Totally fine. 

If he told himself that a hundred more times, maybe it’d be true. One could hope.


	2. Don We Now Our Gay Apparel

Bennigan’s came and went in the blink of an eye. Mr. Tweak was told to have Craig home by four, and against Craig’s private wishes he complied. If that wasn’t bad enough, him and Tweek had a fucking audience as they hugged goodbye and said Merry Christmas. Craig didn’t have the nerve to kiss Tweek in front of their parents, so he didn’t, and he watched what would have been the best part of his Christmas drive away. Unkissed even. 

What the fuck? 

If that wasn’t bad enough, his mom thought it would be cute to make him and Tricia put on the ugliest sweaters she could find at Wallmart. Her’s was some cheap polyester hell that was red and covered sequins. If you rubbed it one way it was an elf. If you rubbed it the other it was a reindeer. If you asked Craig, no one needed to be rubbing the front of his nine year old sister’s ugly sweater. In terms of material alone, Craig’s was less offensive. It was a navy blue shirt with snowmen on it, and its caption was Hangin’ With My Snowmies. If any of his classmates caught him wearing that, he’d shoot himself. 

Craig voiced one complaint, and was answered with, “there’s always dad’s old wool sweater.” It was ancient, puke green with offensively bright red text that read HO HO HO. It made his eyeballs hurt, and smelled like moth balls. He stuck with his Snowmies. At least it was comfortable. 

God. He could not believe how lame he looked, though. 

At least one member of the Tucker family was spared. Stripe was warm and safe, getting all the pets and treats a rodent could want at Tweek’s house. Craig already missed his little buddy, and when Craig got him back he’d be as spoiled a little shit as ever. That’s OK, though. Guinea pigs are meant to be spoiled. 

“How about some Christmas Carols?” said Laura, flipping through the radio.

“My friend Jimmy wrote one,” said Craig. “It goes ‘oh the weather outside is shocking, and Cartman’s mom sure takes a coc-’” 

“Enough!” said Laura, and she glared at her husband when he laughed. He didn’t like the looks of that, so he turned around and told him “enough” as well. Laura barked at him to keep his eyes on the road. It was dark out, for fucks sake!

“You laughed and you know it.” 

“God, you’re such a fucking retard,” said Tricia, flipping Craig the bird. 

“Earth to twat rag. You’re not supposed to say ‘retard’ anymore,” said Craig, flipping Tricia the bird.   
Thomas turned and said, “I’ll knock both your heads together if you don’t zip it!” And Laura chastised and flipped him off because he took his eyes off the road again. She was perfectly capable of placating their obnoxious children on her own.

“Whatever,” said Craig, flipping open his phone. Tweek sent him a video of Stripe nibbling on a baby carrot, and he watched it at least twelve times in a row before sending Tweek a single emoji heart. He didn’t want to use words. Words took effort, and he had to save his effort. If he didn’t, he’d say and do all sorts of fucked up things that’d get him in trouble. His restraint was growing remarkably low over the years, especially now that he was dating a boy who wore his heart on his sleeve. It inspired Craig to speak up more, and act in ways more consistent with his emotions at times. 

Whether or not that got him into trouble this Christmas remains to be seen. 

“Now Craig,” mom started, just as they were getting close. “I know uncle Skeeter can be a bit, well...” 

“Intolerant? Bigoted? A raging asshole of epic proportions?” 

“... difficult.” Uttered right through her teeth. She tried to hide it, but she couldn’t stand his uncle either. It was pretty fucking obvious. “But remember, him and dad, they grew up in a different time, with very different expectations. And, well, some folks our age get stuck in a certain mind set and just need a little push, you know?” 

“No. And I don’t care.” 

“Craig, when uncle Skeeter sees that you’re still the same old Craig, he’ll come around. Even if I have to knock some sense into him. OK, kiddo?” said Thomas. This time he kept his eyes on the road. “Remember, I didn’t understand either at first. Now look at me!” 

“But you’re also not a dick,” Craig pointed out. 

“That’s not appropriate!” said Laura. “Don’t call your uncle any rude names while we’re at his house.” 

“You know. You all could have saved us a lot of trouble if we’d just stayed home,” said Craig, focusing once more on his phone. Neither he, nor Tweek were in the mood to talk. The only non-Stripe related thing Tweek said was that his dad hung BALLS on their fridge, thinking it was the cutest fuckin’ thing in the world. Well, at least somebody was happy.

“It’s not too late to turn around,” said Tricia, in whole-hearted agreement. “Ugh. I hate this sweater.” 

“Too bad. We’re already here,” said Thomas, pulling into the driveway. Well, this was it. Craig didn’t like the cold stab he felt in his chest, knowing someone who was supposed to love him hated a rather crucial part of who he was. If that wasn’t bad enough, Craig only had a bunch of stupid girls to hang out with for the next three days.

Red was the one who answered the door and ushered them in. She was already in her jammies. She and Craig exchanged a look. Just a look. Nothing remarkable about it. Then uncle Skeeter walked into the room with a beer in his hand, exchanging bland pleasantries with his parents and showing them where to put their coats. Craig tried to disappear into the guest bedroom upstairs, but as soon as his foot hit the first step he caught a glimpse of the girl coming down the stairs. 

Bright, orange hair. Purple eye shadow. Short shorts and a tank top. Not to mention a very blase look on her face. Bad attitude. Very bad. 

“Oh hey, cutie. Haven’t I seen you at Raisins before?” she said. “Everyone who goes there is super lame, but you seem cool. Are you, like, Red’s boyfriend Kevin?” 

“Gross,” said Craig. “Why are you here?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m Lexus, Red’s favorite half-sister!” she said, practically flying down the stairs now. She threw her arms around Red, who’s nose wrinkled like something in the air was dead and rotting. 

Oh.

Oooooooh.

That’s why. That’s why the name Lexus was so familiar. Fucking Raisins. Those girls were demonic creatures if you asked Craig. Back in fourth grade he and the guys had a beef with them thanks to Clyde’s stupid ass. It hurt when they scratched and bit. It hurt even more when they used their charm and charisma to pit the boys against each other. Tweek totally turned on Craig after a bribe for discount wings and a free shoulder rub. He felt totally betrayed! What kind of gay boy loses his mind over a stupid chick’s false promises? To this day, Tweek couldn’t even explain it either. 

And that is why Craig is one hundred percent convinced that, if it came from Raisins, it must be demonic. And that’s only one reason why Craig refuses to let Clyde and Jimmy drag him there anymore. 

And now Craig discovered that he was a blood relative of one of them, and distinctly felt hot garbage running through his veins. Worst Christmas ever. 

“Wow! Hi! I’m Tricia.” His little sister approached Lexus, who kissed her new cousin on both cheeks and paid her false compliments on her ugly sweater. She rubbed the sequins back and forth, announcing all too proudly that it was a totally fun and festive look and what a neat choice. Red took this as her opportunity to slip away, and said nothing to Craig as she did so. Clearly he was on his own here. He couldn’t say he blamed her, though.

“Craig. How you doin’, son?” said uncle Skeeter, holding his hand out for a shake. Craig took it reluctantly. 

“Fine.” 

“Dad tells me your grades getting better.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Craig refused to look his uncle in the eye. He hated small talk. He hated everything. Please let him die on the spot. 

“You thinking of trying out for football?” 

“No,” said Craig. 

“You, ah. You got a girlfriend yet?” 

And it starts. 

“... Boyfriend.” His eyes darted toward a crack in the floor and twitched a little. Time to tune out. 

“Ain’t no such thing,” said Skeeter. “Not for a scrappy young tyke like yerself. You know, I don’t take too kindly to that Liberal media poisonin’ you kids’s minds, teaching y’all to be queers and such. It just ain’t natural.” 

“Actually, it is,” said Tricia, and Craig shot her a scathing look. He hoped if they all kept quiet that this conversation would simply disappear into something, anything, other than this. “Craig’s boyfriend is awesome.” 

“Oh hey! Yeah, I remember you now,” said Lexus. “You’re that angry gay one that shit talks everyone. Me and the girls totally kicked your bitch ass that one time, remember?” 

“No. Me and the guys kicked your bitch ass,” said Craig, flipping her off. “Even when you had ninjas and crab people helping you. Pathetic.” 

“All right. Kids, go upstairs. We’ll call you when dinner’s ready,” said Laura. She wanted to be upset with Craig for his lack of decor, though her gaze was burning holes in Skeeter. She didn’t want to be here anymore than the kids did, but Thomas insisted on visiting family each and every single year, so that’s what they did. 

Even if they all hated it. 

Craig’s parents have never been so uncool in their entire lives, dragging him here, getting an earful of nonsense from that old prick. He was prepared for that, though. What he wasn’t prepared for was spending Christmas with a fucking Raisins chick on top of that. Not only that, but discovering that she was a blood relative of his! 

The last place he needed to be was here. 

Craig seriously considered firing them as parents. He’d rather hike to Canada and be raised by dire wolves and forced to speak French. He’d rather have each of his nails ripped out of their beds individually. He’d rather be shipped back to fucking Peru. 

Hell, why stop there? He’d even rather kiss the grossest part of Eric Cartman’s ass. 

“my family sucks,” he messaged to Tweek. 

And when Tweek messaged, “Is everything OK?” Craig replied with, “It’s as OK as it’s gonna be.” If he couldn’t fake positive, he could at least be vague. Tweek wasn’t thrilled about that, and didn’t know how to respond, so he just said “OK...” and went offline soon after. Craig laid on his belly with his face buried in his pillow, praying for the sweet release of death. 

Meanwhile, Lexus and Red were in the room next door, arguing under their breaths. 

“It’s not going to work,” said Red. “And it’s gross that you’re going to try.” 

“Puh-lease,” said Lexus. “I don’t care if it works or not. I only care that daddy gave us each fifty bucks to try.” 

“You only call him daddy when he gives you money.” 

“Well, yah. What else are dads good for?” 

“I’ll tell Craig. That’ll fuck your whole stupid plan up.” 

“You tell that string bean fuckboy a goddamn thing and I’ll tell daddy you’re having sex with a black guy.”

That was a cheap trick, and only worked on the most stupid, racist of rednecks in town. Red’s dad fit the bill. He would demand to know who the mystery suitor was and threaten to shove the barrel of a gun up his ass. He would scour Red’s phone and all of her social media accounts for answers. He’d bang on Token’s and Nichole’s doors and demand answers from their parents. It’d be so embarrassing. It would also take about two weeks for him to get off his high horse and accept that it was a lie, but by then Lexus would be back at home with her mom, completely unscathed in her treachery. 

Well played, bitch. 

Craig was on his own.


	3. It’s the Shit-Shittiest Time of the Year

It wasn’t even Christmas yet, but since the whole fam damnly was already piled into the kitchen, uncle Skeeter served them all spam and freeze-dried scalloped potatoes anyway. It was a tradition he called a frugal man’s Christmas dinner. Lazy man’s Christmas dinner was more like it. The son of a bitch just didn’t want to admit that he didn’t know how to cook real ham and wouldn’t bother to learn. None of them would, so Craig had this exact kind of dinner to look forward to for two more nights. Oh joy. 

One bite siphoned more moisture out of his mouth than Tweek’s strongest cup of coffee could. There was enough salt in that dish to make the angriest Let’s Player blush. 

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Skeeter was talking. 

“... damn Obummer. Ya have him ta thank if ya don’t like yer potatoes, girls. S’all I could afford. Democrats trying to tax us hard workin’ folk so that lazy McCormick family can have flay minion and lobster for supper on my dime whiles they doin’ crank and coke and opios. Not to mention tryna confuse our children, tellin’ them they can use whatever bathroom they want. I don’t need no bleedin’ heart librals giving dirty perverted men permission ta use the same public restrooms as my daughters. I don’t take too kindly ta...” 

Thomas 'oh’d” and 'uh-huh’d’ his way through Skeeter’s diatribe. As much as he also didn’t like Obama and never has, he isn’t president anymore. Besides, their current president is far worse if you asked him, but he doesn’t say that, because this conversation is already bad enough. He eats his brother’s spam, and cringes the few times Skeeter mentions “queers” because technically that’s his son he’s talking about. He chances an uneasy look toward Craig, who doesn’t seem to be listening at all. 

Maybe it’s rude that he isn’t listening, but then again, he is only a kid. Kids don’t understand politics and think that they’re boring. It’s best if Craig doesn’t listen. Yeah. 

Meanwhile, Craig chances a second bite of his food, and had to swallow down an entire glass of water to chase it. He’d go to bed green in the gills if ate anymore, so instead he pushed the crap around his plate for awhile, tuning out his uncle’s stupid, incoherent rant about what-fucking-ever, at least until the doorbell rang. 

He felt his innards run cold. That couldn’t be good.

OK, as far as Craig knew, every wretched member of the Tucker family was gathered 'round the table, so who the fuck could that possibly be? A homeless person rattling a change jar? Uncle Skeeter didn’t exactly live on the best side of town. It was better than Kenny’s house, but that wasn’t saying much. Of course, Craig has never been to Kenny’s house, but he’s seen it enough on trash TV to get the idea. Poor bastard. 

If not a homeless person, were there still jerks in the world that went door-to-door Christmas caroling? One could certainly hope not. The only carols Craig was in the mood for were Jimmy’s. He wished he could hang out with Jimmy right now. 

Before he had time to dwell on that, Red ushered in something worse than he dared to imagine. Something far worse. If the canned heart attack on his plate wasn’t enough to nauseate Craig, then the two people joining them in the kitchen certainly would. God, he could smell their fruity Dollar Tree body spray from twenty feet away. His eyes already hurt. 

“Hi daddy!” said Porche. 

“Thanks for inviting us to Christmas, daddy!” said Mercedes. 

Dear god no...

Each girl blew Skeeter a kiss. Craig stared, eyebrows knit in fury.

“Don’t tell me those are my cousins, too!” Craig blurted. It was bad enough every ginger in town was likely a distant relative of his, a fate he shared with Eric Cartman. He didn’t want to share anything with Eric Cartman. Then, fucking Lexus from Raisins turns out to be his half cousin, and he’s still not even processed that. What did he do to deserve this? He had to have pissed off some god out there. Not the Christian one. He had the texts from Jesus to prove it. But he definitely pissed off some god, or gods out there. Maybe he’d ask Tweek to text Buddha and find out. Oh fuck. What if the ancient Incan gods were mad at him for being a butthole in Peru that one time? Shit. 

He was getting worked up now. He was even ready and itching to flip the fucking dinner table now, his parent’s wishes be damned. He didn’t care if they grounded him for the rest of his life. This whole thing was stupid and infuriating! Why did fate constantly frown upon him? 

“No, they’re just Lexus’s stupid friends,” Red grumbled. Craig could hardly contain his sigh of relief. 

“Dad wouldn’t let me invite my friends over...” said Red.

Red’s closest friends were Nichole and Wendy. To be fair, she didn’t have either of them over ever, because her dad embarrassed her. Who wants to invite their respective black and gender fluid girlfriends over to their bigoted dad’s house anyway? Still, she stuck it to him anyway, because Lexus suddenly being in her life sucked ass. Red didn’t want a damn sister! 

“Ya didn’t ask, did ya, pumpkin?” said Skeeter. “This is a family house, and if these girls need a family to spend Christmas with, then by golly they’re welcome to.” 

Wow. That’s when it dawned on Craig that Red totally had a point.

So he shot a scathing glance toward his parents, who appeared just as chafed and bewildered by this as Craig was. He didn’t ask if Tweek could come for obvious reasons, no matter how badly he needed Tweek right now. His hand was cold and lonely, and only had a stupid napkin to grab on to. 

Instead, last week he toed safer waters and asked if Jimmy could come, since Jimmy’s parents were gonna be out of town anyway. At least Jimmy would have kept him distracted with bad jokes and endless anecdotes. They said no, because that “wasn’t appropriate” and they didn’t want to “impose.” Jimmy instead was bound to be having the best Christmas ever at Token’s house, while Craig sat there, mouth dry, stomach heaving, cold hands, no Tweek, no Jimmy, and no joy whatsoever. Fuck Christmas. Worst day ever. 

“Can I be excused?” said Craig. 

“Ah... yeah. Go on,” said Thomas. It was obvious that he wanted to refuse, but he knew how to pick his battles. Craig scraped his dollar store sodium bomb straight into the trash and rinsed his plate to appease the powers that be. Then he barreled up the stairs without a word. He was honestly better off eating the entire ziplock bag of candy that Mrs. Tweak gave him earlier. 

After three fun-sized Snickers cubes, Craig decided that he’d assaulted his GI tract enough for one evening, so he turned the lights out and rolled over. 

He tossed and turned for a bit, too much on his mind to fall asleep. This was totally unfair. 

No. 

This was more than unfair.

This was absolute bullshit! 

His unspoken truce with Red was awkward enough to maintain, not to mention his brainless uncle windbag, whom Craig learned to tune out like a fuckin’ champion; however, a Raisins-sized wrench by the name of Lexus was thrown right into that delicate mix now, changing that familiar evil forever. He took some comfort in knowing Red wasn’t OK with this either. Only some, though. The two hadn’t had a chance to talk, but it was obvious that she wasn’t impressed by any of this. Meanwhile, Tricia may have played nice, but she only ever did that when she fully intended to stab someone in the back. Craig and Red had enough problems, so hopefully that someone was Lexus. Tweek was the only person Tricia tried to be nice to, and she only did that to piss Craig off and fuck with him. 

God, his family sucked.

He whipped out his phone, hopping on facebook messenger so he could message Tweek. Tweek was offline. He was only ever offline when his phone was dead, or when he was asleep. He did start nodding out halfway through lunch earlier, and was barely engaged in messaging Craig in the car, so Craig ventured a guess that Tweek was asleep. Even so, Craig was annoyed now, and he had to vent. 

“hey babe sorry if this wakes you up” Send.

“i’ve got so much shit to tell you your not going to believe this shit” Send. 

“my cousin lexus is a fucking raisins chick” Send.

“i’m related to a goddamn raisins chick!” Send.

“and her stupid raisins friends are all here too” Send.

“i couldn’t invite you or jimmy but that cunt got to have her friends over” Send. 

“and my uncle still refuses to believe i’m gay but that’s not surprise” Send. 

“i’m so fucking over this” Send.

“i miss you” Send. 

“i wish i could see you rn” Send. 

“fuck” Send.

“sleep well babe” Send.

He topped his wall of text off with a heart, put his phone on the bedside table, and attempted sleep again. He listened for his phone to vibrate in case Tweek logged on, but the one time it did vibrate it was a message from Tricia. 

“Fuck u for leaving me alone with those people!” it said. 

“every man for himself” Send. He used that exact wording just to piss her off, too. He was well aware that he was the only man here, at least among the children. And he sent a middle finger emoji just for good measure. 

He decided he wasn’t going to be able to sleep with that damn phone on, so he shut it off and rolled over onto his stomach. Tweek would reply when he was ready. He always replied, even when he was mad. He couldn’t reply in his sleep, though, and it was always best to let Tweek sleep. He never got enough sleep. 

And neither did Craig, come to think of it. He couldn’t even remember a time where he’d woken up any later than five in the morning now. His circadian sleep rhythm was permanently Tweek’d, if you will, which suited him damn fine right now, as he was both willing and able to zonk out at seven-thirty at night. His last lingering thoughts were of one of Jimmy’s latest smash hits, that he played in place of counting sheep in his mind. 

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart  
But the very next day, you told me you’re gay   
This year, I’ll get over it   
And play Doom 3 on my PC...

Yeah.

Craig had some peace right where he was. He was the only boy, and thus got this sweet room all to himself. Nice! It never occurred to him to lock the door, though. 

This would make Lexus’s plan all too easy. 

“OK, girls. We strike at midnight,” Lexus whispered in the hall. 

“Can you really go through with this, girlfriend?” said Mercedes. 

“Yeah. I mean, isn’t it kind of trashy to pray on your own cousin?” said Porche. 

“Daddy gave me fifty bucks. Who cares?” said Lexus. 

“Wow,” said Mercedes. “You know, I admire that. You’ve been working so hard.” 

“Your hustle is on fleek, doll face.” 

“I know,” said Lexus, appearing bored as shit. 

Everything was going according to plan, but for the fact that Tricia and Red overheard the entire conversation from the doorway. Raisins girls weren’t like the girls at South Park Elementary. They were fiercely loyal to their own. Meanwhile, where Red comes from, all girls are back-stabbing bitches. Clearly the Raisins girls had not accounted for that, or they would have been a lot more careful. 

The look Red and Tricia exchanged said it all. 

Midnight, huh?


	4. Hark! The Raisins Bitches Came

‘Twas a quarter to midnight, in the quaint house of Tuckers.  
Not a creature was stirring, just some drunk ass mother fuckers;   
All the grown ups were tense, ‘til the first joint was lit  
And what ol’ Skeeter lacked in food, he made up for in drink,  
They knocked back peppermint schnapps ‘til they were too drunk to think  
But ol’ blowhard Skeeter wasn’t too drunk to speak. 

“Listen here, Thomas. Your boy’s just going through a phase,” said he.   
“He’s going through a phase that’ll be all over in a matter of days.”   
“You watch what will happen. You watch and you’ll see.”   
“Three beautiful ladies all to himself. What other choice has he?” 

“Gay? Straight? It’s not a choice. We discussed this,” said Thomas, cheeks red, vision swimming.

“It is a choice, brother. You watch and you’ll see. Before Christmas is done, he will covet the girls three.”

“I have no idea what’s going on right now,” said Towelie. Where there was marijuana, there was always a towel. 

Laura hiccuped. “Did that towel just talk?” 

“Yeah,” Skeeter slurs. “I don’t take too kindly ta towels ‘round here.” 

“We’re so high we’re talking in verse.” 

“I need a breath mint. There’s some in my purse.” 

She never made it to her purse before passing out. Skeeter and Thomas passed out as well. Towelie proceeded to use his special getting high powers once more, and flipped on the television. It was the Terence and Phillip Jingle Farts holiday special. You’re a towel. 

Meanwhile, there was a spy from the stairway, glancing through toy binoculars to take in the scene. 

“Typical old people,” said Lexus. “Can’t even stay up past midnight.” 

And that is why the Raisins girls chose the midnight hour to sneak into Craig’s room and offer him the ultimate Raisins Christmas experience. It was an honor most fifth grade boys would die for, and Craig would get to experience it for a mere fifty bucks per girl. That was a fucking steal, Lexus noted bitterly. She supposed daddy’s undying affection and loyalty would come in handy one day, which could be as useful as money if she played her cards right. Even so, she felt like such a cheap skank. 

“All right, girls. Time to charm this boy straight,” Mercedes said, turning toward the others. Lexus was applying the last of her sparkly amethyst eye shadow, and Porche was getting her hair just right. The three slid the door into Craig’s room open, gingerly toeing their way across the hardwood floor like panthers stalking their prey. 

Mercedes flipped on the light switch. Porche placed the boom box on Craig’s bedside table and pushed play. The sudden thumping rave music jolted him out of slumber. It defeated the purpose of sneaking around entirely, but whatever. Show time! 

“Ah-ah! What? Tweek? What the fuck?” Craig sputtered, disoriented and confused. Then he felt a weight dip into the side of his bed, which he didn’t appreciate one bit. That was neither the sound, nor the weight of Tweek approaching him. And god, what was that smell? That dollar store body spray that hit the back of his tongue from ten feet away. Ugh! He rubbed his eyes, and glanced down at cousin Lexus wearing skimpy pajamas. The other two girls were on the floor twerking and rubbing their asses together to the beat of the music. 

That’s when conscious logic hit his tired brain like a fucking train. 

He wasn’t at home, and it wasn’t Tweek that woke him up, for once. 

It was his cousin Lexus. He backed into the head of his bed, knowing he had to make his escape. He’d also have to hit some girls if necessary. He’d gotten pretty good at punching people. Could he take on three girls? By the time it occurred to him to just fling himself out of bed, Lexus was straddling his legs, trapping him. Then she lifted her nighty and showed him her raisins. 

Porche and Mercedes screamed and did the same thing. 

These girls were fucking crazy. 

“I heard you like boys,” said Lexus, shoving her chest in Craig’s face. “I can change that.” 

Yeah. 

Craig was gonna have to punch a bitch tonight. 

He balled up his fist, ready to deck this temptress right in her shitty, sparkly eye. 

That is, until a spray of ice cold water blasted her in the neck. 

“Wah!” she shrieked, flinging herself off the bed. “Cold! Cold! I hate cold.” 

“Ahhh!!” the other two screamed, super soakers on full blast, chilling their hideous raisins. 

“Fuck! Argh!” said Craig. He leapt out of bed, his pajama bottoms wet and dripping. He looked like he’d peed himself, but he didn’t care. His fists were ready. Let that bitch flash him again. He dared her.

“You whores! What do you think you’re doing?” said Lexus, red with fury. She bounded toward Red, whose super soaker was aimed and ready to fire. Tricia stood by her side, her own water gun in hand. She looked so tiny, and yet so serious. 

Tricia swung her gun in Lexus‘s direction and said, “Stopping you from molesting my brother, you fucking bimbo.”

“It’s not molesting. We’re Raisins girls,” said Mercedes.

“Yeah. All guys want us. Even this dumpy-looking troll,” said Porche. 

Craig flipped her off, then went back to cracking his knuckles. 

“If our raisins weren’t enough, then what else is there?” 

“I dunno. Maybe he wants to see what’s down our pants?” 

“Not a fucking chance,” said Lexus. “Daddy didn’t pay us enough for that!” 

“... what?” said Craig. His brain was still muddled from being rudely awakened. 

“It’s a setup,” said Red. “My stupid dad paid these bitches to make you straight.” 

“Oh my god, Red. Could you be anymore of a traitor?” said Lexus. “We’re sisters. We’re supposed to be best buds.” 

“You didn’t account for the fact that I fucking hate you,” said Red. “Also, I don’t care what lies you tell dad about me. Leave Craig alone.” 

“I don’t care about my stupid brother at all, to be honest,” said Tricia. “But it’ll break Tweek’s heart if a bunch of bimbos steal him away, so back off if you know what’s good for you.” 

“Dude, what the fuck,” said Craig. Then he shook his head in an attempt to comprehend the massive clusterfuck of stupidity laid out before him. His bigoted uncle, who was also an idiot, paid the Raisins girls to make him straight by what? Harassing him in the middle of the night? Somehow Red and Tricia figured this out and came to defend him, not that he needed them, but hey. Meanwhile, his pants were cold and soaking wet, his sleep was interrupted, and his fists were still itching to fly. “I think all of you should leave. I’m tired, and this is stupid.” 

“No,” said Lexus. “Daddy gave me fifty bucks. Couldn’t you, like, pretend to be straight? For me? Your favorite new cousin?” 

“No,” said Craig. “Fuck off.” 

“But I really need that money. You don’t understand how hard it is for me and my mom, OK?” 

“Nope. And I don’t care. Get out.” 

“Have a heart, you asshole,” Mercedes chimed in. “Lexus’s mom is sick and can’t work.” 

“Yeah! She needs that money.” 

“You sneak into my room, wake me up, and flash me your raisins, knowing full well that I’m gay and have a boyfriend,” said Craig. “And I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Yeah, that makes perfect sense. I’ll get right on that.” He flipped them off once more. 

The room filled with the buzz of angry, petty back and forths for a good, long while. Had their parents not been in a schnapps filled haze and shaking the foundation of the house with mighty snores, they’d surely be up the stairs shouting at them all to go to bed. Alas, the adults were too useless to stop the events that were taking place. Hell, Skeeter was the one that arranged it? Rat bastard. 

Craig and Lexus were engaged in a fist fight before long. He punched, she scratched, they shoved each other against the wall and furniture, knocking the boom box to the floor. Red soaked the other two with her gun when they tried to step in and help Lexus. Oh, it was on now. 

Tricia stood in the doorway, bewildered and watching a conflict that would get nowhere fast. Neither side was going to budge. If there was a way those greedy girls could get their stupid money without breaking Tweek’s heart, that would be ideal. 

Boys loved the Raisins girls for some reason. Well, straight boys did, in any case. Craig wasn’t a straight boy, but he had a lot of straight boy friends. He even had one who had almost the same voice as him. 

And that’s when the solution to all of their problems hit her. 

“HEY!” she hollered, making them all pause mid-brawl. Craig and Lexus were both ready and aimed to punch. Porche, soaked to the bone, was biting Red’s arm while Mercedes held her down. It was all very comical. As amusing as it was annoying. 

Tricia grinned. She was so proud of herself. 

“I have an idea. Everyone shut the hell up and listen.

“You girls don’t even need Craig to get your stupid money. You just need someone disguised as Craig. Get it?” 

“I don’t like where this is going,” said Craig, and Tricia flipped him off. She was trying to save him, and that’s the thanks she got. Tweek was too good for him. 

“Yeah, I mean. That could work,” said Porche. “Plenty of losers out there look just like him.” 

“Hey, just because loser fifth grade boys are all interchangeable doesn’t mean it’ll work,” said Lexus. “Like, what are we supposed to do with him?” 

“Craig could hide in the basement,” Red offered. 

“Or I could just leave,” said Craig. Never mind. He did like where this was going. He was almost smiling. In fact, this is the greatest thing his sister has ever done for him. He didn’t know she had it in her to give a fuck. Huh. Christmas miracles do happen. 

“Brilliant," said Tricia. “But first, you have to get your friend Clyde to take your place.” 

Craig’s face fell. He fucking knew it. 

“Why Clyde?” 

“Because he sounds just like you, stupid.”

“And he does love Raisins girls,” said Red. “Tell him it’s a Christmas present. He’s stupid. He’ll go for it.” 

“Who the fuck is Clyde?” said Mercedes. 

“Whatever,” said Lexus. “Fine. As long as we get our money, I don’t care.” 

“Wait, that’s stupid. I don’t sound like Clyde,” said Craig. “And I don’t look like him either. This won’t work.” 

“It will work,” said Tricia. “As long as he wears your stupid hat and sweater the grown ups won’t even notice.” 

“They’ll notice if I suddenly have a muffin top. Clyde’s kind of a fatass, you know.” 

“He’s not that fat, you stupid prick! Do you want a Merry Christmas with Tweek, or not? I’m trying to help you!” 

“Who said anything about Tweek?” 

“Please. We all know the first thing you’re gonna do when you leave is fall into Tweek’s lap.” 

Craig opened his mouth to argue, but when no words came, he hung his head in frustration and provided the bird instead. She was right. Goddammit. But she was wrong about Clyde. There’s no way his parents wouldn’t figure it out. 

But then again, what did he care if it displeased them? He shouldn’t have to deal with his shitty uncle just because they said so. Especially after the stunt he tried to pull. Fuck that, and fuck spending Christmas here. 

Maybe they’d actually learn something in his absence. One could hope. 

“Christ. Fine. I’ll call Clyde and tell him,” said Craig. “But I don’t fucking sound like him.” 

Red and Tricia rolled their eyes.


	5. Crashing Through the Ho

Clyde had about a handful of expectations every Christmas year. First he’d be haunted by images of tubes and bodily organs being sucked into them, followed by his mom blaming him for her death and telling him he was a disappointment. That was every day, though, so he just kind of dealt with that crying and eating a pint of ice cream here and there. 

After belching and changing his colostomy bag after a major emergency evacuation, an ordeal that took over an hour and a half to deal with since he was lactose intolerant, but determined enough to inhale ice cream as fast as the president eats babies, but I digress. After that frankly skin-crawling mishap that shall not be named, he would hop on his computer and stare at boobies, because if a loser like Butters could then he damn well could, too. Boobies always put him in a better mood. Black boobies were best boobies. 

Then his dad would tell him to go to sleep, because Santa was coming and could see that Clyde was looking at naughty pictures. Clyde would go to bed and sleep a dreamless sleep for awhile, then wake up with his eyes still closed, sending his subconscious positive affirmations that he is not, in fact, fat, just kind of big-boned. He’d also think about how Heidi Turner was still fat. Fat chicks had bigger boobies, and therefore were hotter. Token wasn’t into fat chicks, but he was wrong. Clyde wanted to grab some rolls and lick ‘em. 

When, and only when, he watched porn of fat chicks did the ghost of his mom come into his room and tell him he should be ashamed of fetishizing the differently-sized and fabulously-sized models. They were an Obama supportin’ family and knew better than that. Then she’d go away and Clyde would go back to watching his fetish. 

He secretly hoped Craig’s sister got really fat one day. He’d ask her out. 

Clyde’s mom popped back into his room to gently remind him that that was not appropriate, and he should be ashamed of gawking at young women in poor health. 

Clyde reckoned if he had enough of these back and forths with that dead hag, he’d go full Norman Bates on this bitch and stab Wendy Testaburger in the girl's locker room shower. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Clyde was a crybaby and couldn’t stand the look of papercuts, let alone blood-splatter. Plus, he wasn't enough of a dick to hurt anyone, especially females. Just his mom, only it wasn't his fault because she should have looked before sitting down on the toilet. 

It was really far more likely he’d crawl into the fetal position and cry himself out of existence than end the existence of another human. Honest.

Then, after one of these basic fucking nights, he’d wake up for the fifth time in a groggy haze and open his Christmas present from dad. It was probably a new pair of shoes. It was always fucking shoes, but Clyde didn’t want anything else, so he didn’t complain. If he were the complaining sort, his dad might revoke his boobie-viewing privileges. People like to say Clyde is dumb as dirt, but not when boobies are involved.

Raisins, however, were dangerous, tantalizing, hypnotic territory. 

So it was real interesting at some one in the morning, where Clyde was arguing with the ghost of his dead mom, when his phone rang and he discovered it was Craig.

“Hold on, mom. Craig’s butt-dialing me,” said Clyde. 

“Don’t you tell me to hold on. I am your mother, and you will pay attention when spoken to.” 

“Clyde?” said Craig on the other line. Clyde held his finger up to his mom to shush her. This was clearly more important. 

“What’s up, bro?” 

“Hey. I’m going to ask you a really convoluted and weird favor, and trust me, you’re the best man for the job, even though I know you'll suck at it." 

“Ooo, I dunno. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. There’s pie. There’s boobies on my computer. Dad invited Cartman’s mom over for some ‘physical therapy’ as he puts it. I really should say hello, at least...”

Maybe get a peak at her boobies.

“Clyde! Don’t you ignore me! I’m talking to you!” said Betsy. 

So Clyde turned to her and said, “The living are speaking” in a crude tone. Another ghost from the attic started laughing at her dismay, so she floated up there and gave that son of a gun a piece of her mind, boy did she! Good. That’d keep her occupied for a few minutes. 

“So the Raisins girls are here, and...”

“I’m in,” said Clyde. “How much money do I need to bring? Should I gank my dad’s credit card?”

“No. Don't bring anything. Just waddle your fatass over here. Now.” Click. Craig realized the error of his ways and texted Clyde the address he’d be heading to, as he forgot to mention it over the phone. As Clyde dressed and snuck out the bathroom window, his mother unleashed a geyser of fury in the Donovan bathroom, toilet water spraying this way and that. One thing was for sure. Whoever had to clean up that mess wasn’t going to have a Merry Christmas. 

But Craig used the magic words. He said “Raisins” and Clyde came running. 

On the other end of the phone, Craig just gawked at the small device in his hand, bewildered by how easy that was. It still remained to be seen whether or not Clyde could pull off Craig’s look and personality successfully, but he supposed his fervent enthusiasm would do for now. 

“OK, and now I guess we wait for him to show up, or whatever,” said Craig, tossing the phone on the bed. “Also, now that we’re all on the same page, you mind telling me what the fuck, Lexus?” 

“What the fuck what?” she said, not looking at him. Totally concentrating on her nails. 

“I mean. Never mind that what you did in and of itself was kind of a hate crime and a sexual harassment lawsuit. You know, if I gave that much of a fuck, which I could be compelled to do under the right circumstances.” 

“God, you talk a lot,” was Lexus’s response. 

“He actually doesn’t,” said Red. 

“Only when he’s ultra pissed off,” said Tricia. “I’m surprised you still have teeth, to be honest.”

“And you want to talk about lawsuits? You little bitch. You’re so lucky there isn’t a mark on my face, so help me god...” 

“You tried to rape me!” Craig belted. 

“I already told you. Daddy didn’t pay me enough for that.” 

“This is so goddamn wrong. Holy shit...” said Red, pinching the bridge of her nose. Whoever raised Lexus couldn’t possibly be a decent human being. Once again her dad brought her massive waves of shame and embarrassment. 

“Well, that confirms it.”

“Confirms what?” Lexus said, shooting Craig an incredulous look. 

“That you were raised in a dumpster. And if you ever touch me again, I’ll fucking kill you. I’m your cousin, for fucks sake!” 

“You little shit goblins just don’t GET how much I need that money, OK? Get off my fucking back!” 

“Jesus Christ, Lexus. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you to apologize when you fuck up?” 

“No,” said Lexus. “Because I didn’t fuck up. You people are nobodies to me and I just used you. Quit being so butthurt. It’s nothing personal.” 

“But it is personal!” said Red. “You made it personal when you waltzed into my life unannounced! You’re my sister now, and this is the foot we’re gonna start off on? I mean, really?” 

“Says the one who totally betrayed me first. You’re dead to me, Red. Talk to the hand, bitch.” 

Red took that as a challenge and decked Lexus in the jaw as hard as she could. She was beyond pissed. She was pissed for the glaring interruption in her already embarrassing enough life. She was pissed off that this interruption threw a fucking donkey punch into Craig’s comfort zone. She was jealous that Craig was the only one leaving, but these girls were just gonna pick at him like raccoons pick at trash in the Denny’s parking lot in a fruitless attempt to seduce him straight.

OK, so Red wasn’t close with Craig, but she knew him enough. She knew he was gay since they were in preschool. He either doesn’t remember, or refuses to remember, but he’d make hearts out of play dough and leave them on Tommy Shaw’s desk. Tommy was a blond kid that was scared of his own shadow, and cried whenever anyone jump scared him. This was around the time Craig started putting up his middle finger. Red insisted that it started with nasty boys who were mean to Tommy. 

She had no idea whatever happened to Tommy. She did, however, remember thinking that Craig and Tommy would totally get married some day. She even remembered enacting the wedding with two of her Ken dolls. She felt very strongly about this until at least first grade, when somehow she realized Tommy was gone forever. He probably got trampled by cows or something. Poor kid. 

The point Red was getting at was pretty fucking simple. When Jenny Bean pointed out that Craig was kind of the hugest butt pirate in all of third grade during the Phil Collins Hill sledding race, she was totally right. Red wasn’t imagining it. Then Craig and Tweek got together and Red was one of the few people who wasn’t even surprised. Her boyfriend Kevin asked her if the Japanese girls might make him gay someday, and she had to tell him, “no, stupid. You’re born that way. Japanese girls draw pictures because it’s cute and it sells.” He understood stuff that was cute and sells. He had enough Star Wars and Star Trek merch to prove it. That was the last time he ever questioned his sexuality. Alien chicks were hot and always would be. That was his preference.

In any case, Red had a vastly superior right hook to Craig’s. Instead of getting up and fighting back, Lexus stayed on the floor and cried it out. Then Porche and Mercedes returned and escorted her out, telling the Tucker bunch all sorts of creative places they could shove it for crossing the wrong band of bad bitches. Red flipped them off and told them to go to fucking bed. They’d have their decoy Craig in the morning. 

“There’s one thing I don’t like about this plan,” Red murmured out loud, once they were alone. 

“With all due respect, this is me not caring,” Craig supplied, knowing she would continue regardless. All he was thinking about was leaving, though. He was on a mission and had serious tunnel vision at the moment. 

“Shut up, asshole. What about my dad? It’s wrong for a bigot like him to think he’s won. To think you’ve turned straight because of his stupid plan.” 

“Why is it my job to tell him to not be homophobic?” said Craig. “My absence should speak for itself. Fuck him.” 

“But Craig. He’ll think he’s won. That can be bad for all gay people!” said Red. “Don’t you care?”

“Whatever,” said Craig, but added, “Here’s one thing going over all your heads at the moment, and that is that we are definitely going to get caught. Clyde and I are nothing alike. Your dad might be stupid, Red, but mine will figure it out quick. Just you watch.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Red asked. “What if my dad talks him into being a bigot? Won’t that be bad for you?” 

“I trust my dad,” said Craig. “He’s not stupid like everyone else’s dads are.” 

“Oh god.” Red rolled her eyes. It was so like boys to venerate their fathers.

But she hoped, for all their sakes, that he was right. Her dad embarrassed her so much anymore, but if there was one thing he loved it was his family. Maybe Uncle Thomas could sway him toward a more reasonable attitude regarding homosexuality. That’d be the dream. After all, her dad used to not care, but then Mr. Garrison shoved a gerbil up Mr. Slave’s butt, and things only went downhill from there. Steven Stotch being a regular in Skeeter’s bar running his mouth against the LGBT community, despite being a known closeted member of it by literally everyone in South Park, he really started buying in to some of the negative stereotypes and propaganda being strewn about by right wing and alt-right media. Fox News was always on in his bar, for fucks sake. 

Now with Craig being out, it was all coming to a head. 

Jesus help them.


	6. Christ the Lord is Come at Last

At the hall of Super Best Friends, Jesus let out a morose sigh as He stirred His early birthday cocktail. He stirred and stirred His cocktail, never taking a drink. They passed the blunt around a few times, but He refused to take a hit of that, too. Buddha shrugged and took a few extra puffs, while everyone else knew this was serious. 

Jesus was deeply saddened by the state of the world. His name has been used in vain so much, and those who claimed to love Him acted against His teachings. The straw that broke the camel’s back this year was that heartbreaking text from an eleven year old homosexual boy named Craig Tucker who would be forced to spend his Christmas with a family member who could not accept him for who he was. It was all too sad. The ache in Jesus’s heart was intense.

This happened every year, and all over the world. South Park had been something of a pet project for Jesus. One that He hasn’t touched in awhile, perhaps too long now. He still owned a home there. He’d spent quite a bit of time living there and knew some of the children quite well. Even after all of His miracles and divine grace, the town of South Park continued to forsake Him. Some days He just wanted to cry and give up forever. 

“Aww, buck up, You sad hippie. It’s Chri-hic-stmas,” said Santa, who was on his fifth cocktail. He had a lot of work to do the next day, and he’d be damned if he didn’t get shit-faced at least once before delivering everyone’s presents. 

“Indeed, You are rather glum,” said Vishnu. “Care to talk about it?”

“Oh, well. I feel like I’ve failed My children,” said Jesus, his chest sinking. “It’s the new millennium, and homosexual children still feel threatened and unloved by their families. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried preaching love thy neighbor. I’ve tried preaching judge not lest ye be judged. It’s like My good will falls upon deaf ears anymore. I am truly at a loss.” 

“Ask that... ask that pretty lady over there. She knows everything,” said Santa, gesturing toward Moses. No one bothered to correct Santa. He was a mean drunk if you got him going. 

“Yes. I suppose it couldn’t hurt," said Jesus. “Oh, Moses. Dost thou haveth any advice for Me? What can I do to make this wretched world even slightly better?” 

“Hmm,” said Moses, spinning and glowing as he does. “Offer the boy a ride? It’s cold out.” 

“A ride?” said Jesus. “You mean for Me to drive him elsewhere? Away from his family? Gosh, I don’t know. It seems counter-productive to encourage him to run from his problems rather than face them head on.” 

“I’ll give him a ride!” said Santa, swaying as he stood. “Where’s my keys?”

“You don’t require keys to ride in a sleigh,” said Moses. 

“Oh yes!” said Santa, and he grabbed Jesus. “Let’s go perform a miracle!” 

“Why don’t you let Me take the reigns?” Jesus asked. “You’re drunk, and besides, I’ve always wanted to use the sleigh.” 

The reindeer nodded emphatically, which made Santa’s rosy cheeks burn with fury. 

“Screw You,” said Santa. “You’re just saying that because You think I’m too drunk. I’m not too drive to drunk, You asshole!” 

They swerved in the sky until Santa’s sleigh crashed into an old Faith +1 billboard in Bumfucked Kentucky, killing three of his reindeer. Jesus miracled the poor creatures back to life with His secret Jesus magic, and took the reigns while Santa threw up and passed out.

The next place they were spotted was a few hours later at Tweek’s house, where the twitchy little spaz laid his wary head. He’d been asleep about ten hours, when a bright light roused him into a wakeful state. When he saw the silhouette of an unfamiliar head and body he jumped backwards and screamed bloody murder.

“NO!!! THEY’VE COME TO GET ME!! AHH!!” he screeched, running back and forth, trying to locate anything he could use as a weapon. A bat? No, his dad took the bat away after Tweek hobbled the FedEx guy in a panicked frenzy that one time. Umm, an umbrella? No, he lost his umbrella, and didn’t bother replacing it since he and Craig shared Craig’s umbrella now. Legos, hot wheels, jenga pieces, dirty underpants. Oh, why was there a freaky man crawling through his bedroom window? Was this a night terror? Was this the angel of death come to take him at last?

“Be not afraid, My child,” said Jesus. Tweek was quivering in corner, and threw an empty coffee cup at him. Jesus just smiled and turned the other cheek, though. “It is I, the Lord Jesus Christ.”

“What?!” said Tweek. “W-why are you here? Are you mad that I’m a Buddhist? I-I’m not ashamed, you know!” 

“What? No, child. In fact, Buddha is one of my Super Best Friends. His teachings are as good as Mine.” 

“Really?” said Tweek, the alarm bells in his mind quieting to a hum. He was generally distrustful of strange men in his room, and why shouldn’t he be? It seemed like only yesterday that the ghost of human kindness was within mere seconds of successfully kidnapping him. He could be dead in a gutter right now. But Tweek knew Jesus. Jesus lived in South Park and was on TV all the time, so he wasn’t really a stranger, so much as it was strange for him to be there. There was nothing to fear from Jesus. “Wait, why are you here? Are you with the cops? I-I don’t know what dad puts in his coffee to give it that extra ‘umph’ OK? I’m just his guinea pig!” 

“Your dad has been very naughty,” said Santa, stumbling up the stairs with a bottle of Merlot. The same Merlot that Tweek’s dad purchased earlier that day, as a matter of fact. “I just got done taking a shit in his stocking.” 

“What?!” Tweek didn’t know whether to be horrified, or confused. He stood there staring wide-eyed and ready to run if he felt threatened, but goddamn. Jesus and Santa. On Christmas Eve? In his room? Why? Didn’t they have more important things to do?

“Santa, whatever happened to giving naughty children coal?” 

“Coal is expensive,” said Santa, scratching his beard. “Shitting is free.” 

“Ngah!” said Tweek. “What the hell is going on? Am I about to die or not?!” 

“No, no,” said Jesus. “See, earlier this day I received a distress call from the boy you call your love.” 

“Craig?” said Tweek. “What’s wrong with Craig? What happened? Is he OK? Oh god, I haven’t checked my phone in over ten hours!

“Please be OK. Please be OK. Please be OK...” Tweek chanted, darting toward his bedside table. He checked and noticed many, many missed messages. So many missed messages. He didn’t want to open them. This was way too much pressure. Too many missed messages! 

“hey babe sorry if this wakes you up” Read.

“i’ve got so much shit to tell you your not going to believe this shit” Read.

“my cousin lexus is a fucking raisins chick” Read.

“i’m related to a goddamn raisins chick!” Read.

“and her stupid raisins friends are all here too” Read.

“i couldn’t invite you or jimmy but that cunt got to have her friends over” Read.

“and my uncle still refuses to believe i’m gay but that’s not surprise” Read.

“i’m so fucking over this” Read.

And so on. 

“Fuck!” said Tweek. “Why did I have to fall asleep when he needed me? I suck.” 

“He still needs you,” said Jesus. “Come. We are going to pick him up right now.” 

Just then, Tweek noticed the carriage with eight reindeer floating in place at his bedroom window. It was like something out of one of those weird Tim Allen Christmas movies his dad always made them watch while they trimmed the tree. He wasn’t too crazy about flying in a carriage, or Santa being drunk and belligerent. He still didn’t quite understand why they were even there. Busting Craig out was something so stupidly simple that even Stan and Kyle could have helped.

But since they were here, he might as well go with them. 

“Let’s leave this shithole,” Santa said, climbing in the driver’s seat. Jesus glared at him until he handed over the reigns, calling our Lord and Savior rude names such as spoil sport, party pooper, and fuddy duddy. He even decided to torment Tweek and Jesus by playing Cher on his phone. Joke’s on him, because he had to listen to it, too. 

Meanwhile, Tweek was still going through his phone. He also received a wall-o-text from Tricia. This girl needed to learn how to use a fucking period, because Tweek was struggling to read it. 

“so yeah this christmas is fucked up and craig is bailing he’ll be at token’s house once clyde gets here man these stupid raisins girls i don’t know why guys are so into them even the boys in my class go nuts over them they nuke their zingy twatty wingies u know also...” 

It went like that in a post so massive Tweek couldn’t even finish it. He was getting a headache. He was also getting a headache because he was thirsty. He needed coffee, then water, in that order. He also realized that he wasn’t wearing a coat and it was freezing out, especially in the air. He was going to ask Jesus, or Santa to magic a coat into existence for him, but they swooped down into the Shitty Pa Town, where one lone figure was power walking down the street. He had his hood up, so Tweek didn’t recognize him immediately. Only when they landed did he notice the middle finger in the air, and when Craig turned to face them the grumpy sneer on his face gave way to surprise. Almost a smile.

“Hey Tweek,” said Craig, holding out his hand. Tweek walked up and took that hand reflexively. Then Craig looked up, and his surprise turned sour. “What the fuck? Jesus? Santa? Oh god...” 

“They’re taking us to Token’s house,” said Tweek.

“Why?” 

“I-I don’t know! So you can get away from your uncle, I guess?” Tweek sneezed, and rubbed his running nose on his sleeve. It was gross, but whatever. He was cold, damn it! “L-let’s just go. I need coffee!” 

“Whatever,” said Craig, boarding the sleigh with Tweek. He held the smaller boy to him so he could warm up. Tweek forgot his damn coat again and was probably getting sick. That didn’t matter, though, because Tweek was there. Craig could barely see him in the dark and cold, but Tweek molded to his body so well. It was the most comfortable feeling in the world. Craig kissed the top of Tweek’s head, and before they knew it they’d arrived at Token’s bedroom window. 

What an awkward conversation this was going to be. 

Oh well.

“Token?” said Craig, knocking on his window. “Token, open up. We’re cold, and Tweek needs coffee.” 

It took a moment, but the groggy form of Token appeared at the window and threw it open, giving Craig an incredulous look that could only be summed up as “why?” 

“I’ll explain when they go away,” said Craig, gesturing toward Jesus and Santa. 

“Is that anyway to show gratitude toward your Lord, boy?” said Santa. “I have half a mind to shit in your stocking now.”

Craig flipped him off, not really giving a fuck.

“Now Santa, Craig has suffered a harrowing ordeal tonight, and it’s in his temperament to be excessively... nonplussed. My father made him that way, and my father...”

“Never makes mistakes, blah blah blah,” said Santa. Then he belched. 

“Yeah,” said Craig. He flipped Jesus off, too, and climbed in through Token’s window. “Come on, Tweek.”

“O-OK,” said Tweek, letting Craig pull him inside. Jimmy was also roused from sleep, confused by suddenly having two new visitors.

“Merry Christmas, My sons,” said Jesus, and just like that he took off into the night while four boys watched Santa’s sleigh disappear into the light of the moon. Craig let out a sigh of relief, whereas Tweek still clung to him for warmth. It was very warm in Token’s room, in fact, but Tweek was still shivering.

“So,” said Token. “You’re here?”

“Yeah,” said Craig. 

“And that was Santa? And Jesus?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Dude, what the fuck?” 

“I don’t know,” said Craig. “I just don’t fucking know, dude. You wouldn’t believe the crap I’ve just been through. I don’t even know where to begin.” 

“W-well, Craig,” said Jimmy. “Care to sa-spin us a yarn now that you’re h-h-here?” 

“What am I supposed to tell my parents?” said Token. 

“This might be a bad time, but,” said Tweek, half-buried in Craig’s side. “I-is there any way I can make myself some coffee?”

“Uh, sure,” said Token. “Actually, yeah. Let’s go to the kitchen. My mom has a Keurig. Then you guys can tell me what the hell just happened.” 

“Sounds good to me,” said Craig, and the four boys headed out of Token’s room and down the stairs.


	7. Clyde Has but One Lone Ball, Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum

Clyde was too excited to get a single wink of sleep that night. As far as he was concerned, he’d hit the fucking jackpot this Christmas. Chubby girl boobies on pornhub were nothing compared to raisins, and Tricia promised that there wasn’t one, but three beautiful Raisins girls sleeping in the room next door. He could smell Lexus’s dollar store body spray on the damp bed sheets, and it was enough to get him all excited. He knew that scent from anywhere. They weren’t just pulling his leg. He even went in fully expecting this to be some cruel prank, but it was worth the risk, and the payoff would be sweet. 

He also couldn’t help but revel in the silence. His mom wasn’t there. She didn’t follow him. He could spend his Christmas without her nagging at him, and listing the various ways he’d failed her, and was a disappointment to her. He didn’t mean to be a disappointment. He was just trying to get by and enjoy his childhood. What was so bad about that? 

It didn’t matter now. Once the sun came up, Red knocked on his door and told him to get dressed. Yes, including the hat. That was the most important part. Craig wasn’t happy to part with it, and told Clyde he’d fucking kill him if his big head stretched the fabric out too much. Leave it to Craig to be an asshole even to the people doing him favors. 

Once Clyde had on the hat and the snug cotton ‘Snowmies’ sweatshirt, Red and Tricia came in to assess how convincingly act. 

“OK, Craig,” said Tricia. “Tell me, butt pirate. How long did it take you to apply your mascara this morning?”

“Uh,” said Clyde. “Ten minutes?” 

“WRONG!” she crowed. “You’re supposed to flip me off, or tell me to choke on pine needles, dumbass.” 

Clyde immediately flipped her off, not knowing what else to do. 

“That’s better.” Tricia eyed his figure. “Say nothing and give us the finger when you don’t know what to say. You’ll do just fine." 

Upon further inspection, Craig had a point about Clyde having a serious muffin top. He was no Eric Cartman to be sure, but his chub was much too pronounced. Too bad nobody had a corset to spare these days. Craig was a skeleton in comparison to Clyde, and didn’t even weigh sixty pounds soaking wet. Even Tweek was fatter than Craig, and all he ever seemed to consume was coffee. “As for your muffin top...” 

“I’m not fat, damn it! I’m big-boned!” said Clyde. This time he meant it when he flipped her off.

“OK, but if anyone asks you, CRAIG, why you’re suddenly FAT, because the word they’re gonna use is FAT, what do you say?” 

“... I’ve been holding in my farts. You’re welcome,” Clyde grumbled. 

“And if you can’t even remember that, keep your stupid mouth shut and flip them off. That’s fool proof Craig right there.” 

“You can say you ate a lot of candy, too. That’ll make sense,” Red chimed in. 

“Come on. When do I get to see the Raisins girls?” said Clyde. 

“Oh my god...” said Tricia, face-palming. Like, this was the point. She knew it was. Let stupid uncle Skeeter see ‘Craig’ with three girls. He’ll think he’s won for awhile, sure, but eventually they’ll blow his delusion up right in his face and reveal that this is Clyde, which is the only reason why ‘Craig’ is suddenly straight. They’ll all learn something today, and hopefully their parents will take them home early and ground them both and it’ll be so fucking worth it just to get out of uncle Skeeter’s house early. 

Even so, it was weird. Clyde had a similar dumpy, unremarkable look to him that Craig had, only with straighter teeth, a rounder face, and his temperament was more cheerful. Did she mention he was painfully heterosexual? It made her skin crawl a bit. This was going to be annoying while it lasted, but the more time they could buy for Tweek and Craig to be together, the better. 

Craig was even considerate enough to text “we’re here” to her when they arrived at Token’s. No word of thanks, but she knew Craig appreciated the help. He’d just owe her one. Maybe a cut of his allowance. Maybe a yes to the Stripe #4 fashion show she’s been pushing for. Whatever the case may be, he owed her big.

“OK, so like, is this the new dickbag that...” Lexus started talking, and once she got a glance at the new 'Craig’s’ face all the color drained from her face. “Oh hell no.” 

“Hi Lexus,” said Clyde, dazed and blushing. “You’re so pretty.” 

“You bitches didn’t tell me that THIS loser was Clyde!” said Lexus, who had half a mind to slap Red and Tricia both. “Fuck you, twats. The deal is off. No way are the girls and I gonna spend even one second with this desperate, thirsty fuckwit.” 

“Wow, that’s really hurtful,” Clyde whined. Tricia kicked him in the shin, and he took that as his cue to flip Lexus off instead, despite his eyes already glossing over with tears. Their cover was going to be blown if he cried. The only thing less believable than Craig developing a muffin top overnight was him sobbing like a bitch over having his feelings hurt. The only person on earth capable of making Craig cry was Tweek. He thought nobody knew that, but they totally did. 

“We had a deal,” said Red. “Craig’s gone. This is the only way you’re getting your stupid fucking money now, you filthy skank." 

“Don’t call me a filthy skank, you ginger cow!" 

“Takes one to know one." 

Lexus opened her mouth to argue, and absolutely nothing came to her. She just stewed in misery. It was amazing how one single loser could drain her and drag her down. At least she wasn’t alone. She had Porche and Mercedes to keep her sane, but each moment of this would make that fifty dollar reward less and less worth it. 

“Look,” said Red. “Let’s try to be diplomatic about this, OK? If ‘Craig’ here tries to touch your butt or something, I’ll kick him in the ball.” 

“The ball?” said Lexus. “You only have one ball?” 

“Shut up!” said Clyde. He was beet red and sniffling. He couldn’t hold back the tears much longer. “Why are you bitches so mean?” 

“Clyde, say nothing today,” said Tricia. “Flip people off when spoken to, and for fucks sake, don’t cry!” 

“I’m not crying,” he said, and a tear slipped down his cheek. Everyone face-palmed. What a fucking mess. Surely Craig was doing better on his end, right? 

Wrong. 

“That was your idea?!” said Tweek, punching the dinner table. “Are you insane, Craig?” 

“Tweek, calm down,” said Craig. He couldn’t have picked a worse thing to say if he tried, but his brain was tired, and he hadn’t even processed the entirety of what happened in the past few hours. Meanwhile, Jimmy and Token stood back in awe while Tweek put Craig in the dog house.

“You know homosexuality isn’t a choice, you moron. Why would you enforce the idea that it is?” 

“I didn’t...” said Craig.

“YES YOU FUCKING DID!” 

“I just wanted to get out of there. It was really creepy. I still feel gross.” 

“I know,” said Tweek, trying to even out his breathing. “I know. I-I know. But Craig. That was a really bad idea for so many reasons.” 

“It was Tricia’s idea. Blame her.” 

“Tricia’s six, stupid!” said Tweek. 

“Why do you always excuse her and yell at me?” 

Also, Tricia wasn't six. She was eight. Still.

“Because you knew damn well that this was a bad idea and you did it anyway! You should have just called me. I would have been there for you. I-I would have. I don’t know how, but. 

“Craig. That’s your family. Instead of making them deal with the fact that we’re together, you ran away instead. Are you ashamed of me?” 

“No!” said Craig. “I’m not. I don’t want my stupid uncle to hurt you, OK? I don’t know. I fucked up, I guess.” 

“What’s all this yelling?” said Mrs. Black, appearing in the kitchen. She took a look at Tweek and Craig, locked in a bitter argument, and asked Token, “do their parents know they’re here?”

“I have no idea,” said Token. “But apparently Jesus and Santa thought it was important for them to be here, so here they are.” 

“You kids and your imagination,” said Mrs. Black with a yawn. “Well, help yourselves to anything in the fridge, and quit yelling. Dad and I are trying to sleep.” 

“OK, mom. Sorry,” said Token. He looked back and forth between Tweek and Craig, both of whom were red in the face and looked ready to rip each other’s throats out. He decided the safest place to be was the Keurig. Maybe a fourth cup of coffee would appease Tweek enough to lower his voice. 

“W-well, fellas. I say we accept what’s done is done, and have our selves a m-meh a merr-y... have ourselves a muh meh-mmm-meh... have a kick ass day. S-sound like a p-plan?” 

“Hmph, whatever,” Tweek grumbled. 

“I’d be HAPPY to,” said Craig, sneering. 

“This is gonna be a looooong day,” said Token.


	8. Silver Bells, Go to Hell

Token and all of his guests piled into his bedroom, throwing together a large pillows and blankets fort and blowing up two more air mattresses. Tweek told him not to bother, but he did it anyway for the sake of the fort. Also, Token always made a point to be a good host, and insisted that if he wouldn’t sleep on the mattress, it would at least gave him a comfortable place to sit. 

He also thought of offering Tweek and Craig his bed, but the two of them were seriously pissed off at each other because, well, he really didn’t know. Those two had a talent for making each other mad seemingly out of nowhere. This kind of feud happened often enough that Token and Jimmy knew it was best to stand back let them figure it out. They both get insufferable and depressed after holding a grudge too long, and would eventually make up. At least they were helping put the fort together, even if they were snipping at each other.

“Hold it up higher, stupid,” said Tweek. “You want it to fall?” 

“Oh no. It’d be the end of the fucking world if it did,” said Craig, his nostrils flared. Their every exchange was as graceless and petty, and it’d only get worse if Token chastised them for being buttholes on Christmas Eve. He could tell them to get out of his house, but man, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Craig. Token was no stranger to bigots, but having one right in your family was a low blow. He couldn’t leave his bro hanging no matter what. Besides, he was brought here by Jesus and Santa! That potentially meant more gifts for being good and hospitable. 

They could stand to be a little more considerate, though. Especially this early in the morning.

“Who wants to watch a m-m-movie?” said Jimmy. “I brought Sa-anta Got R-run Over by a Reindeer and C-c-christmas With the Kra-k-christmas With the Kr-a-aaa...”

“Oh god, not Christmas With the Kranks,” said Tweek. “I fucking hate that movie. I HATE Tim Allen!” 

“Let’s watch Christmas With the Kranks,” said Craig, just to be obnoxious. Tweek stared bloody murder at him. 

“Let’s... not,” said Token. “Let’s just stream Terence and Philip for awhile. All the Christmas specials are up in a row.” 

“Sounds fantastic,” said Jimmy. They could watch Santa Got Run Over by a Reindeer some other time.

Tweek and Craig said nothing, and although they were mad and not on speaking terms, they practically sat shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed, and they leaned back against the recliner that held their fort up. Jimmy sat beside Craig on his air mattress, and Token sat on his bed. 

They put on about three solid hours of Terence and Philip, eleven fartastic Christmas specials in all. Token was asleep by the fifth one. Jimmy nodded off soon after. Craig was fighting to stay awake, which was stupid. He had a mattress and blankets. Still, he fought so hard to get here. It’d be stupid to sleep through it. 

Craig started seeing double of the tinsel wafting in Philip’s fart breeze, and he could feel warmth radiating from a stiff, yet comfortable shoulder beside him. Inviting him. His favorite shoulder. The one he liked to rest his head on during long bus rides and boring movies. The only problem was that it was a shoulder that came attached to Tweek, who he was supposed to be mad at. If his brain weren’t so full of fluff and fog, he might pull away. He didn’t want to, though.

So he didn’t. 

Instead he plopped his cheek against Tweek’s shoulder, and was out like a light an instant later.

“Craig?” said Tweek. His hood was still up. Tweek only noticed now that he wasn’t wearing his hat. Craig hardly ever took off his hat. Said he had a bad haircut under it, or something. It didn’t matter why. He always had his hat, and it was his favorite hat, like Stripe was his favorite guinea pig, and Tweek, well. 

Tweek was his favorite person. 

Tweek knew this because Craig told him that, in those exact words. Tweek was Craig’s favorite person, and that’s why they were still together after all this time. 

Craig was Tweek’s favorite person, too. 

Tweek never had any expectations when it came to Christmas. He mostly hoped nothing weird, or scary happened, like any given day. It was cool that he got a bunch of presents. All kids liked that part the best. Craig would have gotten to do that, too, but apparently he couldn’t stand to spend Christmas with his family, so he chose to spend it with Tweek instead. 

Granted, the circumstances were fucked up, and Tweek didn’t agree with Craig’s plan overall. Tweek wanted to meet this uncle of Craig’s and tell him to blow it out his ass. Craig was his boyfriend. They loved each other. Hell, they were technically fighting, and Craig still fell asleep on Tweek’s shoulder. Tweek wasn’t even petty enough to shove him away. He was tired, and who knew what else. Tweek couldn’t say that he’d ever been on the receiving end of sexual harassment by a bunch of scary girls. Grown men yes, but sadly that’s a given for the children of South Park. Girls their age? That was new. And not something anyone would take seriously. Boys. Get sexually harassed by girls. No one would believe him, except Tweek. Hopefully Token and Jimmy did, too.

Poor Craig.

In any case, it was nice that Token and his mom allowed them to stay. If nothing else, they had great friends.

“Oh Craig,” said Tweek, whose whisper was met with light snoring. “I wish I knew what to do. I-I really suck at this.” 

Terence and Philip laughed on the screen, their audience of one thinking nothing of their farts as his chest sank for his boyfriend. Hopefully when Craig was awake and refreshed they could start their Christmas Eve off right. 

He had to text his parents, too, so they wouldn’t worry. He didn’t know how long he could stay, but as long as Craig was with him his parents wouldn’t mind. As long as he was home before bed. 

Maybe Craig could come with him. 

While Tweek fiddled on his phone, alone and wired as his friends slept through the morning, the Tuckers were peeling themselves out of bed, and felt the beating their bodies took. Especially Thomas. He was spent. 

Whatever was in those peppermint schnapps, it would pinch his hazy, throbbing brain for days. He needed to find some asprin to kick this, or he wasn’t going to be able to stand, let alone put gifts under the tree. 

“Thomas, get up,” said Laura. She was no better than he was, a walking, nauseous headache that was too goddamn old for this. “There is something seriously wrong with our son.” 

“The boy’s fine,” said Thomas. “Probably just forgot his flonase again.” 

“No. Get up.” She handed him asprin and a glass of water. That encouraged him to sit up at least, but he still didn’t feel like getting up. Laura liked to mollycoddle the boy too much if you asked him, but Craig was headstrong and independent. He didn’t need any of that. He needed his space and his freedom. He was already in a bad enough mood from having to spend Christmas listening to Uncle Skeeter’s ranting and raving. Thomas didn’t know it’d be that bad, but this political atmosphere was really bringing out the worst in people anymore. He didn’t want to upset his brother or his son. Craig was easier to reason with, though. 

Thomas thought it was important for both Craig and Skeeter to learn to put their bullshit aside and prioritize family, because that was most important. When you don’t have family, you don’t have anything. That’s how they were raised, and that’s why Thomas refused to berate his son for being gay, no matter how much he still didn’t understand it. 

So far it was going nowhere fast. Neither was Thomas, until Skeeter walked into the room with a spring in his step, appearing entirely too pleased. 

“Come and see the Christmas miracle,” said Skeeter, urging Thomas to his feet. His wife insisted something was wrong with Craig. His brother spoke of a Christmas miracle. Meanwhile, the room was swimming, and if he stood too fast he’d black out and throw out his back. 

“What miracle?” said Laura. “You’d better not be talking about Craig...”

“Laura, I told you, and I weren’t wrong.” Skeeter steered her into the living room, Thomas barely stumbling behind them when three sets of eyes hit the couch. On that couch sat what appeared to be Craig with his arms around two raisins girls, while Lexus sat between his knees while plucking her eyebrows. “I done told you, didn’t I? Three cute girls and he’s putty in their hands. Queer my foot.” 

Laura was busy looking at the girls, wondering if she should shoo them away. If they were bothering Craig. This abrupt change in behavior was jarring to her. Not two days ago he was holding hands with Tweek. He was smitten. Always had a twinkle in his eye, and gave his full attention to Tweek, where he just kind of tuned everyone else out. This had been going on for over a year now. They were used to that. Craig loved a boy, and that was that. 

The look in ‘Craig’s’ eyes suggested that he was really in to these girls. She turned away with a huff. If she’d looked any longer she may have noticed the roundness of his cheeks, or his brown eyebrows. She couldn’t stand to look at it, though, because it wasn’t right. Something about it wasn’t right, and she wasn’t awake enough to deal with it, so she threw her arms up and walked away. 

Thomas was also confused. His first instinct was that the person sitting on that couch wasn’t his son. That just wasn’t his son. Nothing about it was right. The posture. The weird smile on his face. He was too expressive. Too happy with these young girls clinging to him. Also, something about his appearance overall was off. It was just off. 

That was crazy, though. It was his hangover and eye floaters playing tricks on him. It had to be. There wasn’t an imposter sitting on the couch in Craig’s place, meaning this young man could only be Craig. But this also wasn’t Craig. How could that be? He didn’t voice his thoughts out loud, because if they already seemed crazy in his mind, imagine putting them into words. 

“Was I right, or was I right?” 

“No,” said Thomas. “I don’t know what this is, but I’m not convinced of nothin’. You don’t know how Craig looks and talks about that boy he’s with.” 

“Really?” said Skeeter. “Yer gonna deny what’s right in front of yer face for some queer fantasy?”

“I don’t know what I’m looking at,” said Thomas, but he’d figure it out once his headache was gone. And coffee. Coffee sounded good. He’d deal with this after coffee. Skeeter shrugged and followed.

Speaking of coffee, Thomas would have to call the Tweaks at some point and wish them a Merry Christmas. It was only right.

“Do you think they bought it?” Red whispered to Tricia. Beside the couch was large potted cactus, where they hid and watched the plot unfold. 

“For now,” said Tricia. “Good thing that fucking crybaby didn’t open his mouth. Craig’s friends suck.” 

“I heard that,” said Clyde. 

Porche hissed at him and told him to shut up. They would only tolerate him if he didn’t speak. He apologized for the slip up and lost himself in cuddling some more. Raisins girls were still his kryptonite.


	9. Have Yourself a Vegan Little Christmas

When Craig woke up the first thing he smelled was bacon. 

Then he smelled Tweek’s hair. An aroma far more subtle than greasy bacon, but Craig would recognize it anywhere. It’s weird, because there was nothing unusual about the smell Tweek’s shampoo, and yet the smell of him, especially his hair, stood out instantly. Craig’s never told a soul this. He doesn’t want to be one of the weird ones at South Park, but it was really uncanny, like an animal who has imprinted on his mate. 

Actually, that wouldn’t surprise Craig at all. 

“Babe?” Craig mumbled. “We still fighting?” 

“Shut up and spoon me,” Tweek uttered. Craig knew he wasn’t asleep.

“C-christ, guys. Get a room,” said Jimmy.

“We have a room,” Craig said through a yawn. “Token’s room.” He still hasn‘t even opened his eyes, yet managed to roll over and get his arm around Tweek in exactly the right way. 

“This is why mom told us to keep the door open,” said Token. This was also a good day to be black, because he was absolutely blushing and trying to hide it. He wasn’t embarrassed, or even attracted to guys. More like, Tweek and Craig were the realest thing he knew. Like a sneak peak into the outside of the Matrix real. They were painfully candid sometimes, and the side of Token that was so used to being surrounded by bullshit everyday never failed to be surprised. Kind of jealous, too. Would he ever connect with a woman like that someday? He kind of hoped so. 

“Boys! Come eat!” said Mrs. Black. Token and Jimmy were eager to have a big, hot breakfast, and Tweek and Craig were on a whole other plane of existence entirely. Jimmy tried poking them with his crutches, but Tweek “argh’d!” and Craig flipped them off. 

“OK, but mom’s just gonna drag you two downstairs by your ears,” said Token. “She’s very serious about feeding guests in our house.” 

“That’s nice,” said Craig, his face totally buried in Tweek’s hair. He wanted to live in it. 

“Christ, fellas. You’re worse than my p-puh-parents.” 

“Seriously,” said Token. “When you’re done pretending you’re already old and married, come get some damn food so mom doesn’t have a fit.” 

They didn’t move. They didn’t even make a sound. 

“We have a huge selection of coffee downstairs, Tweek,” said Token. “And not just K-cups.” 

That got Tweek to open his eyes, at least, and shift his gaze around the room to nowhere in particular.

“Craig, let’s get up,” said Tweek, and Craig groaned like it was the end of the world. “Come on, dumbass. Let’s eat so we don’t get in trouble.” 

“We’re already in trouble,” said Craig, right into Tweek’s scalp. “Five more minutes...” 

“Boys!” Mrs. Black called again. “Now!” 

That’s when Tweek stood up. Nothing like the promise of coffee and a mom saying “now!” to get him to listen. 

Craig gave them all the finger, but dragged himself up and out of la la land. He supposed he’s been summoned for worse things than free bacon, so with one last yawn and trailed behind the others, his feet cold against the solid oak floors. So far he was in the clear, just chilling at the Black residence, eating bacon, eggs, biscuits, gravy and whatever fruits he wanted. He didn’t usually want fruit, but Tweek kept insisting he grab one, so he grabbed a pear. 

He could tell Jimmy wanted to make an inappropriate joke about grabbing a banana, but though better of it at the last minute, given its sheer lack of originality. Jimmy was trying to be an original, stand out kind of comedian, not like these Bob Saget douchebags saying dirty words on television just to say dirty words on television. We get it. You can say shit on TV now. Congrats!

“So how are your parents doing, Craig? I haven’t seen Laura at the book club lately.” 

“Fine,” said Craig. “Mom’s always at work. Dad’s made some investments and finally quit the job he hated. And now has more time to sit around on his ass and build model ships and airplanes. And like, be a part of gay rights activism with Tweek’s parents and Stan’s dad, I guess. I think they drag him there kicking and screaming to meetings sometimes. Dad doesn’t like social functions unless he can get drunk. People piss him off too much.” 

“Wow,” said Mrs. Black. “You are a lot more talkative than I remember.

“And you,” she said, waving her spatula in Tweek’s direction. “I don’t even drink that much coffee. How much do your parents let you drink?”

“ACK!” said Tweek. 

“What kind of answer is that?” 

“Oh hey, boys,” said Mr. Black, in a tank top with a towel around his neck. He’d just gotten off the treadmill. “I think I’ll have myself a nice kale smoothie for breakfast.” 

“Dad’s trying to go vegan,” said Token. He especially noted the longing gaze Mr. Black gave to the pan of bacon. “Trying.” 

“How many vegans does it t-ake to screw in a light bulb?" said Jimmy. “I don't kn-know, but where do you get your p-p-protein!?”

Everyone chuckled mirthlessly, except for Token’s dad, and Craig surprisingly. The hint of a smile on his face was real.

“Good one, Jimmy,” said Craig. Tweek thought the joke was lame, but also thought it was cute that Craig seemed to like it regardless. 

Fast forward five hours, and you will find Craig’s dad sneaking into the kitchen for a Christmas cookie, and also so he could get Richard Tweak on the phone. 

He dialed the Tweak residence, and Richard picked up after a ring and a half.

“Hello. This is the Tweak family residence. We here at the home of Tweek Bros. Coffee are enjoying the rich, aromatic hazelnut roast, a fresh addition to Tweak brand coffee. Can I put you down for an order of half a dozen bags of our finest holiday blend? It’s a bargain at only $29.99. It’ll give you that festive warmth you’ve been craving. Warmth, like the cozy bonfire in my heart when I think of my little homosexual son being grounded for taking a dump in my Christmas stocking and leaving the house without telling us. I have never grounded Tweek before, but that’s what Steven Stotch recommended I do when we met in the super market, and it seemed reasonable to me. Mrs. Tweak disagrees, though. She thinks he just misses Craig, and she's probably right.”

“Uh,” said Thomas, not understanding any of that. “Hello and Merry Christmas to you too, Richard.”

“Oh, it’s you Thomas! Wonderful!" Richard exclaimed. “Put Tweek on the phone. I’d like to know why he dropped a Lincoln log in my Christmas stocking so I can discipline him accordingly.”

“Tweek isn’t here,” said Thomas. 

“That’s odd. I could have sworn he was with Craig. Where else would he be?” 

“About Craig...” said Thomas, his heart sinking. Richard was very fond of Craig, and thought his relationship with Tweek was the most wonderful thing to ever happen to him. He glanced in the other room, where his son was still seated, wrapped in girls with far too much sticky makeup and cheap perfume on. He hoped none of that was lead-based, but he wouldn’t doubt it. 

The more he looked at them, the more wrong it seemed. Those girls were giving the boy the ol’ sex performer treatment, where they’ll do or say anything to get a few extra bucks. Craig even handed Lexus a twenty dollar bill not too long ago. It was all too strange. 

How was it that this boy was Craig, and yet not Craig? There was no explanation he could think of that wouldn’t have him thrown in a psych ward. Maybe he was getting old. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe all that gluten and processed junk meat over the years was killing his brain softly and sent him spiraling slowly into madness. It was already happening to Randy Marsh and Gerald Broflovski. They were currently known as the town drunk and the town cheeser, that’s what they were. That brand of absurd dysfunction was going around like the damn flu virus these days. Look at the president! Look at Al Gore! Look at the teachers sleeping with kindergarteners and being possessed by spirits of the dead. Look at that damn towel that always shows up when he wants to get high. And just look what became of his brother. This sure wasn’t his grandpappy’s South Park.

Stupid had to be a contagious disease. It just had to be. 

“Oh, I’m sure Tweek will turn up. He always does,” said Richard. “And I hope Craig turns up for you, too, but I’m certain they’re fine. You know those little tykes. Can’t stay apart for too long. They’re like a nesting pair of lovebirds gazing at the sunrise on a dewy branch through a quiet spring’s morning.” 

“Yeah...” said Thomas. He was going to mention that Craig was here, but somehow felt like that was a lie. He looked at that kid again, real close that time. Noticing more and more how off “Craig” was. He smiled big when one of the girls said something and that was the wrong smile. Craig didn’t have big teeth and he didn’t have dimples. He also wasn’t crazy about girls, not even before everyone realized he was gay. What in the hell was going on? “Yeah! I think you could be right, Richard.

“And by the way, you and the Mrs. have a Merry Christmas.” 

“You too, Thomas. Give my regards to Craig.” 

“Oh, I will," said Thomas. Then he hung up the phone, and knew what he had to do.


	10. Stink! Stank! Stunk!

Despite Craig’s dad continuously giving him funny looks and Mrs. Tucker avoiding him outright, Clyde was having the time of his life. He never was one to say no to beautiful girls, even if they were mean and made him cry. At least they were paying attention to him. 

Craig’s Snowmies sweatshirt was a little snug, especially in the shoulders, and his hat smelled like it hadn’t been washed in five years, which was strange considering how often the guy did laundry. None of that really mattered, though. Three gorgeous Raisins girls were still laying all over him, texting, watching Bravo, and filing their nails. Lexus filed her nails a lot. It was weird how she did that, and yet never seemed to run out of nails to file. Girls were weird like that, but they were pretty and they smelled nice, so Clyde didn’t care. 

Never mind that all of them had huge frowns on their faces. Clyde was in such a giddy daze he refused to acknowledge it, at least for now. Earlier Lexus did the most frowning, so he handed her a twenty dollar bill to get her to smile, and the other girls said that wasn’t fair, so he gave them each twenties, too. They all smiled for maybe five minutes, just long enough to convince Clyde that he was living the dream. 

As for the girls, they were bored. Porche and Mercedes complained about how creepy Skeeter was, staring and praising them and shit. Grown ups should never be that obsessed with a child’s sexual orientation. Even the Raisins girls knew that. 

Heck, to kill time and satisfy some curiosity, Porche was snooping on Craig’s facebook profile, and managed to find one public picture of him with his spazzy little boyfriend Tweek. They were taking a selfie at that crappy coffee shop on the other side of town. The Tweeker place. Their coffee sucked, but their hot lemon tea with codeine wasn’t bad. Craig and his boyfriend were super cute together, in that awkward nerdy sort of way. It was strangely charming. Like, Porche knew people had charm and charisma, but never considered that couples did, too. It also helped that nerds were totally in. So were gays, come to think of it. Why that nasty old fart Skeeter was so against it was beyond her. She almost felt bad for taking his money now. Almost.

“Whatcha looking at?” Clyde asked Porche, and she immediately put away her phone. God, she hated when assholes looked at her phone. “Was that Tweek and Craig?” 

“No,” Porche lied. “Mind your fucking business.” 

“It’s OK,” said Clyde. “Seriously, I get it. Everyone’s like that about Tweek and Craig. Even me. There’s just something, I dunno, cool about it. They’re both a lot less full of themselves now and are easier to chill with. Craig talks a lot more now and he’s really funny. I’ve been Craig’s friend since we were babies, so I know. Craig’s facebook blows up with friend requests all the time now, where no one ever paid attention to him before. Everyone wants to know what him and Tweek are up to. It’s like they’ve become a town legend and...” 

“Oh my god, shut up already, nerdo,” said Porche. “You ship it. We get it.” 

“I was totally checking out Craig’s profile, too,” Mercedes admitted. “They are super cute, for a couple of dumpy looking dorks.” 

“Yeah, they’re all right,” said Lexus. “I totally don’t understand what daddy has against it. Like, Craig is totally full blown gay. No one has seen my raisins and was unhappy to tell about it, until him.” 

“He got to see your raisins?” said Clyde, his eyes practically bulging out of his skull. “Holy shit. H-how much?”

“No sale for you,” said Lexus. “You’re as creepy as daddy is. We know your mom died because of you, dumbass.” 

“No. She should have looked before she sat!” Clyde belted.

The girls totally ignored him.

“Yeah, and you shit in a bag,” said Mercedes. 

“Tweek and Craig are only interesting because they’re boyfriends,” said Porche. “They’d totally suck without each other.” 

“No they wouldn’t,” said Clyde. “Also, I can’t help it if I have to shit in a colostomy bag. That’s just how it is.” 

“Whatever. Cry me a fucking river, one ball man,” said Lexus. 

Clyde could feel the lump in his throat, and he had to remind himself. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. It’s still better than being home with mom, no matter how mean these girls were.

Even so, it hurt. They all hated Clyde. In truth, it wasn’t the colostomy bag. It wasn’t the fact that he had one ball. It wasn’t that he had head lice that one time. It wasn’t that he was slightly chunky and average-looking at best. It wasn’t that his mother’s death was his fault. It wasn’t even that he was desperate and shelling out money whenever they scowled and inched away from him in disgust. 

It was just... they already knew Clyde. They’ve known him for years. They had a beef with him last year during his gay little super hero game. Mosquito was such a shitty hero. It was fun to tear him apart on Coonstagram. He was a pathetic crybaby and had to pay women just to pay attention to him. That spoke volumes about his self-esteem. He was the ideal target to exploit at an establishment like Raisins, but otherwise he sucked ass.

They should have demanded money from Craig, too, because this was a chore. Clyde was so far out of their league that they weren’t even on the same fucking planet. Like, sure, Craig was no prize either, but at least he had the decency to be gay, and not even the type of touchy-feely with girl friends gay, so that made him infinitely more tolerable. Clyde was just... no. Just no. They couldn’t regret this harder. If it weren’t for Lexus, Porche and Mercedes would have totally bailed by now.

Yet here they sat. Porche and Mercedes still clung to each one of his flabby arms, while Lexus still sat perched between his legs. Both of them forgot that they were supposedly half-cousins. Thomas and Laura were clearly appalled by the sight of it, which made sense, though Skeeter nudged Thomas while saying “the heart wants what it wants,” the hypocrisy of his statement entirely lost on him and only him.

“Please let this moment last forever,” said Clyde, burying his face in Lexus’s hair. She smelled like Tresemme and Beyonce. 

“Eww, like, could you stop putting your gross face in my hair?” said Lexus. “It takes a lot of work to get it just right, asshole.” 

“I’ll bet it does,” said Clyde, dazed and hypnotized. Porche smacked him in the back of the head, a gentle reminder that there would be boundaries, or they would murder him. 

Just when the girls thought they couldn’t take it anymore, Skeeter announced that dinner would be ready in an hour, and it was time for Lexus’s little friends to go home. Lexus protested, but Porche and Mercedes couldn’t pile into Skeeter’s car fast enough. Skeeter drove them home in the snow. 

“Looks like it’s just you and me now, baby,” said Clyde, waggling his eyebrows. 

“In your fucking dreams,” said Lexus, storming out of the room as fast as her legs would take her. Clyde didn’t have time to so much as get a word in when a door slammed shut behind her. OK. He supposed he could just sit around awkwardly. Alone. Hopefully Craig’s parents wouldn’t talk to him. Red and Tricia didn’t want to talk to him. They were down in the basement coloring. Maybe he could go color, too. 

But Lexus. Why was she so upset? Clyde was genuinely trying not to be creepy, but he supposed the hair thing was too much. Damn it. Actually, yeah. The hair thing was definitely too much. He remembered in fourth grade when the girls decided he was the most attractive boy in class. He caught on that they were all extorting him for shoes with a lot of help from Craig, Token, and Jimmy. After that, he felt like the shittiest boy in class. A feeling not unfamiliar to him, but being the most attractive boy in class for a whole four days was really good for his self-esteem, until it turned out to be a lie. Then it hurt. He never recovered from that. He still sucked at talking to girls.

And once again he was out sixty bucks. Just like that. His dad gave him that money to buy a PS4 game since he got an A in math for the first time in four years, but he blew it on fucking Raisins girls. Again! And they didn’t even like him. He spent more money on girls that didn’t like him than anything else in the world, including himself. This is why he tried to spend more time at home, looking at boobies on the Internet. Fat chicks and black chicks didn’t care if he admired their goddess radiance from afar. He didn’t want a committed relationship anyway until he turned twenty-one. That’s the day he swore to propose to Bootay at the Peppermint Hippo. Until then, the hell with girls.

Heck, he was absolutely content to just look and never meet for now. The only thing stopping him was his mom’s ghost complaining about his porn consumption. The only women in the world who didn’t seem to judge Clyde were ones in videos and porn. They didn’t say mean things and make him cry. They didn’t make him buy them shoes. They didn’t chastise them over toilet seats. They just bounced their magnificent boobies all over the place. 

Who needed a stupid relationship anyway. Sure, maybe he couldn’t even maintain a relationship with Lisa Burger, the girl who used to have the lowest self-esteem in the entire school, but he’d be damned if he was going to feel bad about it!

“Yeah. Yeah! It wasn’t my fault that bitch sat in toilet water,” said Clyde. Although Lisa wasn’t impressed with his bathroom habits, she wasn’t even the one he was complaining about. “You hear me?” he said to his mother, who wasn’t even there. “It wasn’t my fault! You’re dead now! Get over it!” 

“Who are you talking to?” said Thomas Tucker, strolling into the room. “You’ve been acting bizarre all day, boy. What’s up? Why are you acting a damn fool?” 

“It’s that bitch. She-!” Clyde started, then shook his head and cleared his throat. No, no. He had to do it more nasally, like Craig. “I mbean, uh, wud I mbean is...uh...” 

He flipped his ‘dad’ off. 

“Boy, did you get into the peppermint schnapps? Be honest.”

“Ndo,” said Clyde. He was proud that he could produce that nasally effect without pinching his nose. 

“Did that towel try to get you to smoke a marijuana joint with him?”

“Yesh, bud I sed ndo.” That was the universal answer agreed upon by all children back in Mr. Garrison’s fourth grade class. 

“Well, all right, son. Come help set the table.

“And by the way,” said Thomas, before turning into the hall. “I’ll need you to take your hat off at dinner. It’s rude to wear a hat at the dinner table, boy. Mom and I raised you better than that.” 

Uh oh...


	11. Small and Brown, He Comes from You

“Craig, you’re in big trouble!” said Thomas, storming through the front door of the Black residence. Craig slouched with his arms crossed, seated on the Black family’s antique couch with gold trim, a seat that was meticulously dusted and mostly there for show, not for guests. His parents demanded he be seated right where they could find him, and to not move an inch until they got there. Craig obeyed, and his friends were hanging back in the kitchen, trying to concentrate on making vegan Christmas cookies with Mr. Black, but they were all totally listening to everything go down. Tweek grunted and grumbled the most, and couldn’t stop dropping everything he picked up.

Now that the grownups were here, Craig didn’t even have to look up to know how red his dad’s cheeks were, or to see how grounded he was. He accepted that the moment he left Uncle Skeeter’s house in the first place, and he’d do it again, too, but he’d be damned if he didn’t get his say. He’d already flipped Skeeter off. 

Then he saw Clyde behind the hulking form of his father. He’d definitely been crying, which was no surprise. Upon closer inspection, though, Craig thought he looked kind of fucked up. He looked hunched over. Defeated. Beaten down, in a way. He even mouthed “I’m sorry" to Craig, but he didn’t have anything to be sorry about. Craig knew it would come to this and did it anyway. Did his family rip into Clyde, or something? What the hell? Why did he look like someone murdered a puppy right in his face?

”Look at me,” said Thomas. Craig complied. “You’re going to explain to me why you left Uncle Skeeter’s house without telling us. We were scared to death for you!” 

“You were scared to death,” Craig said, his voice flat and thoroughly unimpressed. “Here I am, in the safest house in all of South Park, and you were scared to death. 

“Here I am, surrounded by friends and family who actually give a damn about me, and you were scared to death.”

Thomas and Laura exchanged a look, and Craig kept talking.

“You weren’t all that scared when Uncle Skeeter was ranting about “gross queers” like me. You didn’t even try to shut him up. No shit I left! I was scared!”

“Yeah, fuck you!” said Tweek, from the kitchen doorway. He’d been itching to say that all day. It felt pretty good. Craig smiled. Clyde snorted through his tears. Tricia’s heart swelled with pride. Red said nothing, but she also approved. Jimmy and Token fist-bumped. 

The show of solidarity was short-lived, because Uncle Skeeter just had to speak up.

“Boy, you ain’t queer,” said Skeeter, and Thomas glared at him. He promised he wouldn’t do this, yet here they were again. “Don’t take it so personal. That weren’t directed at you. You’re just confused by the liberal agenda.” 

“I don’t even know what the fucking liberal agenda is!” said Craig, throwing up his arms. “All I know is that, if you can’t accept me for who I am, then stay the fuck out of my life! What’s so wrong about that?” 

“Yeah,” said Clyde, Tweek’s short outburst pulling him from the depths of despair. “Yeah! Seriously. What’s wrong with you people?” 

He’d been wanting to say that all day, and Tweek and Craig, unflinching in the face of doom, filled him with the courage to face everything that’d happened in the past hour. 

It spiraled out of control very quickly after Craig’s dad told him he had to take his hat off at the dinner table. He panicked. He tried to tell Lexus first, but she’d already sneaked out her window without a trace, a fact that didn’t seem to phase Skeeter in the slightest when Clyde tried to tell him. What an asshole. 

Clyde left his dad a note the night before, but still felt bad that he wasn’t at home watching cartoons and eating pie like he always did. Like his dad always expected him to. They had a comfortable thing going, him and his dad, and he threw a wrench in it to help out his bro, and hang out with Raisins girls, who were total bitches. Sure, he was out sixty bucks and a full day of cartoons, but Craig was his friend. He wasn’t going to let his friend have a shitty Christmas.

And he was really glad he didn’t, because dinner at the table was just. Just awful. Thomas kept telling him to take his hat off. Tricia and Red were trying to make elaborate excuses to cover for him, which just made them even more suspicious. He kept flipping everyone off to throw them off his scent, but once Laura got fed up and started shouting, Clyde could only think of his own mom, hovering over him, telling him what a failure he was. Telling him he’d never amount to anything, because he refused to take responsibility for his actions. Telling him he was a pig for exploring his sexuality. He couldn’t tell his dad about this. The one time he tried, his dad got really depressed and wouldn’t leave the house for days. Mom wouldn’t appear for his dad, just Clyde. She was a malevolent spirit, hell bent on making Clyde’s life a living nightmare, and he couldn’t tell anybody. 

He helped himself by helping Craig, which is why he cried the second Laura yanked his hat off his head. When they demanded an explanation, Clyde was inconsolable. He’d failed, completely and utterly. All he could do was cry out loud, gross tears that were coming from a place that none of them understood. Red and Tricia didn’t have the heart to mouth off to him, so instead they were the ones who spoke up first. 

“Welp, it’s gonna come out anyway,” said Tricia. 

“Wait,” said Red. “I thought we agreed...” 

“We lied.” She turned to her parents. “Craig’s gone.” 

“We can see that,” said Laura, her voice sending cold venom through Tricia’s veins. The small girl looked over at Clyde, sobbing pitifully into a napkin. The glare on her mom’s face made her want to cry, too. “Explain.” 

“It was that Lexus girl’s fault!” said Tricia. “She’s an evil bitch.” 

“I don’t care whose fault it is,” said Laura. “Tell me where Craig is.” 

“He’s at Token’s house,” said Red. 

None of them could tell the adults why, because when adults got angry, truly angry, they were powerless to do anything but watch. They were so grounded. Laura was on the phone with Token’s mom. Thomas was digging out his car keys. No one thought to get in touch with Clyde’s dad, though. Clyde and the girls just hopped in the back seat with the grownups and were sped over to Dark Meadows. In the snow, no less. By all logic and reason they should have spun into a ditch and burst into flames, but the Tuckers were on a mission to get their son back. 

Red glared at her father with a hateful expression. She wanted to tell him this was his fault. She wanted to make him feel bad about everything his ignorance caused. She wanted to tell him that she hated him and wished she could go live with Wendy and her parents. Why did he have to turn into this person? It wasn’t fair, and when the injustice of it all hit her full force, she picked up crying where Clyde left off. Tricia said nothing. She’d cry later. 

Once at Token’s, Tricia stood behind her mother, holding Red’s hand because Red was still beside herself. No one wanted to get in trouble, but they were all going to get in trouble, all because they tried to do the right thing. It wasn’t fair. If that wasn’t bad enough, while everyone else was upset and confused, Skeeter continued to talk through his ass like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. 

Then suddenly, a waft of greasy poo stink hit the room, confusing them all. Then Mr. Hankey hopped onto the couch beside Craig, a fact that did not please Mrs. Black in the slightest. 

“Howdy-ho!” said Mr. Hankey. 

“Look,” said Tricia, shaking Red’s hand. “It’s Mr. Hankey.” 

“Oh, thank God,” said Tweek. “We’re saved!” 

“Hey, Mr. Hankey,” said Craig. He’d already seen Santa and Jesus, so this was the next logical turn of events, he supposed. 

“It’s about time I caught up with yeh,” said Mr. Hankey. “You see, I been trying to find my wife for ages now. I reckon she must be inside of one of you fine folks.” 

Everyone could hear a very distant screech of “I’m not drunk” but no one could picture where it was coming from. 

“See, I think she had to find herself some place dark and damp to float in, to keep her radiant poo luster. I’ve already searched all the seas and sewers, and even checked under Sally Struthers’s back fat. Then, I come across an article in The Daily Scat, discussin’ a fad that’s swept pookind. I reckon my wife is holed up in one of yer skulls, to keep the party going.”

“Ay!” said Skeeter. “We don’t take too kindly to poo talk ‘round here.” 

“Yeah!” said a very faint female voice. Skeeter had the talking crap’s full attention now.

“Eureka!” said Mr. Hankey. “That’s where she is!” 

“Wait, what?” said Craig, beyond confused. 

Mr. Hankey hopped onto Skeeter’s hulking shoulder and yelled “HOWDY HO!” into his ear. Then he said, “come on, honey. Party’s over. You have kids to raise.” 

“I’m just getting started,” said the lady poo, shouting from the inside of Skeeter’s skull. 

“Shit-braining is illegal for a reason, honey!” said Mr. Hankey. “It caused the election of our current president. Not to mention folks eating laundry detergent, and folk keeping their little babies inside of hot cars...” 

“You don’t control me!” she said. “You don’t control anything.” 

“Boy howdy, that does it!” said Mr. Hankey. “I’m going in!” 

Everyone watched in awe as Skeeter’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and Mr. Hankey fought within his skull to get his drunk wife to come out. In the mean time, Mrs. Black disinfected the shit stain on her couch, and was already on the phone with someone who could repair the damage. It was enough for Tweek that she’d disinfected it, because he came out of the kitchen and sat beside Craig, grabbing his hand while a thunderous tsunami of poo exploded from Skeeter’s ear and spilled out the front door, which thankfully was still open. Mrs. Black then got on the phone with her carpet cleaners, too, very upset about the unkempt state of her house. 

“Well, that was strange,” said Craig. 

“Not really,” said Tweek. “I know all about shit-braining. That’s why I always put the toilet lid down after I’m done. Rrrah!” 

“Leave it to you to be all caught up in poo politics.”

“Fuck you, Craig.” Tweek smiled, and buried his face in Craig’s shoulder. It was a nice little moment that lasted maybe two seconds, because Uncle Skeeter was starting to come around. The room was spinning and shit-stained. He could taste spam and peppermint schnapps, and smelled poo and poo-flavored cookies baking in the kitchen. 

“What the hell just happened?” he said. “I feel like I been hit by a truck.” 

“You, ah. You had shit in your brain,” said Thomas. “That explains everything.” Skeeter had always been a bit of a bigot, but the shit really hit the fan this year, so to speak.

“Yeah,” said Craig. “Like you paying a bunch of skanks to molest me in the night. I’m not going to forgive you for that, you know.”

“Huh,” said Uncle Skeeter. “Hot damn. I musta been awful drunk to do that. I don’t take too kindly ta homophones around here.” 

“That’s homophobes, dad,” said Red, beaming. She ran up to her dad and gave him a big hug. 

“Wait, what exactly did those girls do to you?” said Laura, demanding an explanation from Craig, so he gave her his exact story. Uncle Skeeter listened, too, and even seemed remorseful. Craig was still angry, though, so he let him have it.

“I see,” Skeeter said. “That’s strange. I don’t even remember having a second daughter. How long I been shit-brained for?” 

“Since about 2016, I reckon,” said Thomas. 

“Y’alright. I woke up with my head in the bar toilet couple o’ nights. Got real bummed about my debts and let a bunch o’ shit get to me.

“I owe you an apology, Craig,” said Skeeter, seeing Craig and Tweek together for the first time. They were like the mountains, like Stark’s Pond. A common part of the scenery. A comfortable thing to behold. He’d seen them walking down the street holding hands so much, but only now could he see what that really meant. “You and your boyfriend are always welcome in my home.” 

“Whatever,” said Craig, drained of all this. Then he turned to his parents. “Am I still in trouble?”   
“No,” said Thomas. “No. If I was in your shoes, I would have left, too.” 

“But you should have left us a note, at least,” said Laura. “And what are we supposed to tell Clyde’s father?”

“Dad knows where I am,” said Clyde. “I’m fine.” 

“Why don’t you all stay for dinner?” said Mrs. Black. “And grab some gloves and a mop. No one shit-brains in my house without cleaning it up.” 

Everyone had a hearty laugh on this joyous occasion, and sang carols as they scrubbed up poo. It was the best Christmas ever, except for Lexus. Santa not only shit in her stocking, but Mr. Hankey paid himself a little visit to Raisins.


	12. One Year Later

“And that’s my Christmas story. The story that actually happened, and not some butthole’s generic story about mistletoe, or Cartman’s hate boner for Kyle,” said Craig, putting his Christmas paper aside. He worked really hard on it and was going to demand a better grade than a C- after break. Actually caring about his grades was an annoying pain in the ass, but he got more privileges and more allowance money as a result, so he wasn’t going to give any of that up without a fight.

“Holy shit, dude,” said Tweek. “I forgot about the sleigh ride with Jesus and Santa. Gah!” 

“Yeah. You were pretty zonked out, dude.” 

“But god damn. I didn’t know the septic tank at Raisins burst because of Mr. Hankey.” 

“Yup,” said Craig. “They failed health inspection, violated child labor laws, and owed the IRS a ton of money in back taxes. Raisins got totally F’d in the A, dude. That’s what Red says, anyway. She's been documenting it on a Wordpress blog. It’s her personal mission in life to archive the downfall of Raisins and rub it in Lexus’s face.”

“Really?” said Tweek. “I didn’t hear about any of that on the news.”

“Of course they’re not gonna put that on the news, dude,” said Craig. “You want give that butthole Jimmy Fallon more ammo to shit-talk us? It’s so fucked up. Kyle’s dad is one of the attorneys involved in the whole thing, too, and Cartman’s been ripping on him like crazy because of it.” 

“Agh! I heard Santa shit in Cartman’s stocking already.” 

Tweek and Craig both laughed and high-fived at the very thought of it. 

“Does Clyde’s mom still haunt him?” said Tweek, twitching at the very thought. No one could see Clyde’s mom but Clyde himself, but Tweek absolutely believed him, even if Craig was still a little skeptical. After all, Tweek still had gnomes stealing his underpants for fucks sake. A malevolent spirit wasn’t all that farfetched. “He should consider investing in an exorcist.” 

“Yeah, but good luck find one that’s legit. 

"He doesn’t sleep too good anymore. He might even sleep less than you do now,” said Craig. “He’s been spending the night with me and Token a lot.” 

“That’s no surprise,” said Tweek. “He’s even spent the night with me like twice and cried himself to sleep both times. Ack! I felt bad, because I thought it was just my dad being weird that upset him.” 

“The girls are paying attention to him again, though,” said Craig. “Red dated him for like two months, remember? That’s the longest relationship Clyde’s ever had, I think. He’s got a huge crush on Heidi Turner right now.” 

“Why?” said Tweek. “Don’t tell me it’s because she’s fat.” 

“Probably. That’s what he’s into, though,” said Craig, shrugging. “I don’t ask questions. His life is his problem.” 

“Augh! Well, as long as he’s not into fat dudes. I think I’d bathe in bleach if Cartman ever started dating guys. The gay community has enough assholes!”

Mr. Garrison came to mind immediately. 

“Tweek, I promise on Stripe's life. If Clyde ever even thinks of dating Cartman, I’d personally rescue him from a lifetime of regret and kill Cartman,” said Craig. “I owe Clyde at least that much. He’s totally straight, though, so don’t bet on it.” 

“Oh thank God,” said Tweek. “So how’s your uncle?” 

“Fine,” said Craig. “I don’t really talk to him, but I guess he’s working with doctors and therapists to extract more shit from his brains. His case was pretty severe. According to dad he’s even stopped caring which bathrooms transgender people use now, and he doesn’t make excuses for the The President Who Shall Not Be Named anymore.

“Dad wants me to have a relationship with Uncle Skeeter, I guess. They were like best friends growing up, but like, what he did was seriously fucked up. How do you just get over three bitches sneaking into your room in the middle of the night and flashing you their raisins? I still have nightmares about it.” 

“I didn’t know that!” said Tweek, grabbing Craig’s hand. “A-are you OK?” 

“I’m fine, Tweek. It’s not that serious.” 

“A-are you sure? It’s not good to bottle up traumatic events. They can fuck you up, dude.” 

“I’ll deal with it however I choose to deal with it, babe,” said Craig, cupping his boyfriend’s cheek and looking him in the eye. “OK? Please?” 

“I know. I know, I know. You’re right. But like, I don’t know. I just don’t want you to feel alone, I guess.” 

“I don’t feel alone,” said Craig. “Why would I? You’ve got my back. Clyde, Jimmy, and Token do, too. And I’m kinda-sorta getting along with Red now. I used to think she was lame, but she’s actually pretty cool. She calls Uncle Skeeter out on his shit now.” 

“Yeah. I like Red,” said Tweek. “I hope Clyde didn’t dump her because she’s not fat enough.” 

“No way. Clyde’s stupid, but he’s not a dick," said Craig. “Besides, Red dumped Clyde because he’s too fickle and hangs out with Cartman and Butters too much. And his crush on Heidi Turner is super obvious.” 

“That makes sense,” said Tweek. He sat there for a moment, pondering anything else about Craig’s Christmas story that he didn’t quite understand. It was a little unusual for Jesus, Santa, and Mr. Hankey to be as involved as they were, considering over seven billion other children they could have been attending to, but at the same time, those were frequent visitors of South Park, so in a weird way it did make sense. 

It was also nice to revisit exactly that which inspired Tweek to research and find productive ways to combat all the shit-braining in the country, so there would be less victims like Craig in the world. Sadly he wasn’t old enough to vote, but he and his family participated in marches, fundraisers, campaigns, mailing lists, events, and community meetings raising awareness of shit-braining and what locals can do to help. PC Principal had a gold plaque made in Tweek’s honor, acknowledging his involvement in the community, and above that plaque was his picture, right in the center of the front-most bulletin board of the school. It was way too much pressure at first, but he always found a way to believe in himself now, because Craig believed in him, and that was the best feeling in the world.

Not to mention, it sure was nice that even a prick like Uncle Skeeter could come around. Even if there was tons of work to be done still, progress was progress. 

“Hey butt pirates,” said Tricia from behind the couch. Both of them looked up, because she was dangling mistletoe over their heads. Tweek “augh’d!" and Craig flipped her off. She’d already done this so many times in the past week that he couldn’t believe she wasn’t bored of it by now.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” said Craig. 

“Mom said to hurry up and get your stuff,” said Tricia. “She wants to get to Glenwood Springs before it starts snowing heavy.” 

“Yeah, all right,” said Craig, putting his story back in his bag. “Grandma’s gonna flip shit when she reads this.” 

“It was really nice of her to let me come stay, too,” said Tweek. “She doesn’t own any Tim Allen movies, does she?”

“Probably,” said Craig. “But we’re not watching them if she does. If anything, we’ll be stuck watching the “you’ll shoot your eye out, kid!” marathon again.” 

“Tim Allen isn’t in that one, right?”

“Right. I think? No, I’m pretty sure he’s not.” 

“Ahhh!” said Tweek, swatting the mistletoe away from his face. “Fine, Tricia. I promise to kiss Craig if you go away!” 

She dropped the mistletoe on Craig's head and ran away, giggling and all too satisfied with that answer. 

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep,” said Craig, smiling and bumping his nose against Tweek’s cheek. He planted a small kiss on the corner of Tweek’s mouth, and Tweek responded by planting his lips firmly on Craig’s. An excellent start to their best Christmas ever. They decided they would have the best Christmas ever this year, since last year was a massive clusterfuck. A clusterfuck with a happy ending, but a clusterfuck, nonetheless. 

They wanted a nice, boring Christmas with grandma this year. Singing in church. Sledding. Skiing. Ice skating. Playing arcade games. Watching movies. Snuggling by the fire when no one was watching. All that good stuff. No running away in the middle of the night. No threat of being grounded. No tsunami of shit. No Raisins chicks. No bigotry. Just honest joy and holiday fun. 

That was the plan. And if things could go according to plan for once in the history of human existence, that’d be just awesome.


End file.
